


Wonderwall

by OnlyHereForGallavich (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Daddy!Gallavich, Daddy!Ian, Daddy!Mickey, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Drugs, EMT!Ian, Fluff and Angst, Gallavich, Getting Back Together, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mexico, Rape, Sex, Slow Burn, Theo Milkovich-Gallagher, True Love, Violence, canon till season 7, dicussions of rape, drug lord!Mickey, fuck the writers, good parents, never watching shameless again woop, post 7x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 61,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OnlyHereForGallavich
Summary: Three years after Ian left Mickey at the border, Mickey is working in the Mexican drug cartel and is getting his GED on the side. He is... happy. It's not perfect but he's managing.Ian is still an EMT, blowing through guys faster than he can find new ones.They have many regrets, and a lot more hurt than meets the eye.Three years later, when they meet, will things just crash and burn again?





	1. You're My Wonderwall

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys,  
> Since I have no faith in the writers, this is my attempt at giving my boys the happy ending they deserve.  
> this will be a multichap, new chapters every week, I hope.  
> hope you like it x  
> come talk to me at immabookgeek.tumblr.com

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three years since Ian left Mickey at the border

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So every chapter of this fic is going to be named for a song! This chapter's title, and the story's name is taken from the song Wonderwall by Oasis

Three years. Three years had passed since Ian watched Mickey go over the border. Told him that even though he loved him, it wasn’t enough. That Mickey wasn’t enough. Mickey still thought about it. Not every single day, though. He had a life now, he had a place to call home in a way he hadn’t since those few golden months with Ian in the Milkovich house. Mickey understood what home meant, what family meant. So what if the people he called family were members of the Mexican drug cartel? So what if home was a house filled with outlaws and individuals most would call scum. Mickey was scum. Ian was the one who had showed him that. Ian was the one who had made it clear that Mickey would never be good enough for another person, even a fucking Gallagher from the South Side. Ian, who had left him at the border, as good as telling him that loving Mickey, was not worth it. That no matter how much he tried, how much he changed, he would be the same piece of South Side trash Ian had been cautioned against. And to think that Mickey had thought he would be enough, that Ian could actually-

Mickey let out a low growl and spat onto the pavement. Ian Gallagher was Mickey’s embodiment of ‘What-if?’ What if’s were dangerous. They dangled your greatest wishes and dreams right in front of your eyes, yet forever beyond your reach. Mickey Milkovich had resolved (to mixed results) that he wouldn’t live with what if’s. Because Mickey had a long fucking list of them. How could he not, when his life had gone to absolute shit so many times? He had realised a little while ago that he did not get a happy ending. That he did not get lazy morning with the man he loved, that he didn’t get legit jobs, he didn’t get happy family time. The man he loved hadn’t even loved him back. At least not enough to change his life for him, the way Mickey had done for him.

Love was a foolish concept, a fucking lie. He hadn’t seen a single happy relationship in his twenty five years. His parents were dysfunctional to say the least. His dad had been the same abusive asshole to his mom as he was to the rest of the family. Mandy had spent school falling in ‘love’ with every guy who looked at her twice, then getting beat up by Kenyatta. Ian had fucked around with guys thrice his age throughout his youth. Fiona had been abandoned by her pathological liar car thief. And Ian and Mickey had collapsed spectacularly. Things had looked good for them for a minute there, but hadn’t things looked up for everyone on the list? For a moment, didn’t one person look at the other and think, “Fuck, I’m really happy right now.” And then it was ruined. 

“Fuck love,” Mickey muttered, kicking a can across the dark street, wondering what the hell was taking Ramirez so long. This was a pretty straightforward, collect-the-money-and-leave run. This kind of thing was usually reserved for less experienced members, but Mickey had had some free time. Free time was risky. Free time meant thinking. Thinking meant memories, and memories burnt Mickey like no fire ever could. 

Things seemed to be going good, though they were stretching a little long for Mickey’s comfort. There had been no gunshots, no loud sounds, and no raised voices. But twenty minutes was too long for a collection run from Elena, one of the most timid of the cartel’s clients. Mickey was about to make his way upstairs when he saw Ramirez’s tall, hulking silhouette walking towards him. “Fuckin’ finally, man,” Mickey snapped, crushing his cigarette under his shoe. As Ramirez became clearer under the streetlamp, Mickey could see the little package in his hand, no doubt filled with cash like a teenage Mickey could have never imagined. He focussed on Ramirez’s face, noting the messed up hair and swollen lips. “Seriously?” Mickey rolled his eyes at his friend, “You had me waiting down here in the heat while you were getting lucky? Fuck you, man.” Ramirez offered him a shit-eating grin, “You’re just jealous, Milo. How long’s it been since you got fucked man? I hear Elena has a hot brother.” Mickey just shoved him and snatched the package away. 

The fact that he was gay was common knowledge in the gang he ran with. They were cool about it in a way that surprised Mickey. No one had ever reacted to the knowledge well in his life. He never thought the fucking drug cartel would be the most accepting bunch he ever met. They had never used it against him, not once. Everyone else in his life had, at some point or another. Even Ian. “Suck it harder, you fucking faggot,” He heard the words ringing in his ears. He had grown to expect that this part of him would always be a weakness, but here, amongst the same outlaws and scum, he had found acceptance. The day he had been caught with his pants down (a habit for him, it appeared), he had been scared out of his life. His mind had been whirring. He was the one doing the fucking, so maybe they wouldn’t think he was some weak fairy? He was summoned to the boss’ room, heart thumping, and shame already coloring him. But when he got there, he wasn’t humiliated for who he was, or kicked out the way he had feared. Boss just said, “Same rules apply to you, Milo. No fucking in the house, no letting boyfriends into the stash.” Mickey had just nodded in a dazed way, and snorted at the word ‘boyfriend’. “Thanks, boss,” He muttered, but as he turned to leave, his wrist was caught from behind. He turned back to see Sanchez still looking at him. “Milo, no one in this gang cares who you fuck. That’s your business. But other gangs may not be the same. I’m sorry to ask this of you, Milo, but don’t flaunt it.”

And just like that, Mickey had found safety. Mickey didn’t care about not being able to flaunt that he was gay; that had never been who he was. But he could fuck a guy without lying when he came back home, without fear that being caught would mean death. Maybe it could, if someone from another gang found out. But he wasn’t running around kissing dudes in front of everybody. It didn’t have to matter. It didn’t matter, he had found. Fucking around was easy, and that was all Mickey ever did anymore. He had tried the whole monogamy, lovey-dovey crap. It had left him with nothing but memories and scars that hurt more than physical ones. Fucking around was easy, safe. 

Mickey was never a safe person. How could he be, growing up a Milkovich in Canaryville? But the shitstorm with Ian had taught him that he could feel too, that he could hurt too. Hard. So now he fought to protect his heart. Because bruised and broken as it was, it kept him alive. And Mickey was nothing if not a survivor. 

Ian had hurt him, had been his ruination in many ways. But now, three years after he had last seen the redhead, he had a life. He had a job, though it was another one of those ones Gallagher would see him as trash for. He had friends, near family. He had safety in a way he had only briefly tasted before. He had whole days that went without thinking about the red head who he had thought would save him, but ended up ruining him instead.

He and Ramirez walked together in amicable silence till the house came into view. It looked ordinary enough, a red brick two story with a clean garden and white picket fence. It looked domestic, suburban. But within that house lay enough drugs to sink a ship and enough cash to buy acres in Manhattan. And that was barely half of what Sanchez’s gang had. And here Mickey was, carrying more to add to the collection. The money the gang made was deposited in numerous bank accounts, but they always kept a shit load of cash on hand too. 

The pair was let in by Lili, who grinned at Ramirez’s face. “Finally got with Elena, huh?” She kicked her brother lightly on the ass. Mickey laughed lightly, seeing the ghost of him and Mandy in the twins. His heart twisted lightly, but he schooled his expression to stay the same. He had a lot of practice with pretending he didn’t feel pain the way others did. 

He tossed Lili the cash, hissing as she smacked him lightly over the head. “You were supposed to help me with my math.” Shit, he had completely forgotten. “Get me some beer, bitch, and then we’ll see,” He grinned, before making his way to Sanchez’s room, rapping on the door lightly. “Come in,” He heard ominously from inside. He opened the door and slipped in. “You’re gunna have to work on the Darth Vader voice, boss,” He commented cheekily. Sanchez sighed. “I was hoping I was getting better. Anyhow,” He changed track, “Got the money?” Mickey nodded, “That’s not all; Ramirez got lucky too.” Sanchez’s booming laugh filled the room, making Mickey smile despite himself like always. “Yeah, okay, old man. I’m leaving now,” He chuckled, leaving Sanchez still laughing behind him.

He made his way back to the living room, poking Ramirez on the back and gesturing behind him. “Look how funny Sanchez thinks it is that someone fucked you,” He grinned. Lili snorted lightly before handing him beer and math in the same movement. Lovely combination, he thought as he pulled the book closer, starting to help her with the problem she had trouble with. 

Yes, Mickey was getting his GED. Under the name Mikhailo Fisher, but it was still his, it was still his hard work. He wasn’t doing it for Ian, the way he would have at some point in his life in another world. He was doing it for himself, because Ian had made feel like he was worth less than gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe. He was happy for Ian, all official with his boyfriends and suits. But he was too good for Mickey in the way he had always feared. He had always been scared Ian would wise up and find someone better than him. And that was better. Ian hadn’t just found a better relationship; he had found a better life. And Mickey had been left behind. Now, he was trying to do this for himself. So that he could look in the mirror and see something other than South Side trash. 

And it was working. Ever since he had discovered his aptitude for math, every time he could answer a question correctly, he felt like he was worth something, like he deserved a future too. He loved working with the cartel. Maybe he would stay with them even after he got his GED. But it would be his choice. It wouldn’t be because he was a Milkovich with no better option. It would be because he found a home and chose it. Mickey hadn’t been given many choices in his life. He had no choice but to hide his sexuality in the Southside, he had no choice but to be alone after Ian had left him, he had no choice but either selling drugs or becoming a junkie himself after landing up in Mexico all alone. Now, for the first time in his life, Mickey was giving himself a choice.

Fuck Ian and his fancy fucking EMT job and his fancy fucking boyfriend.

Fuck him and his fancy fucking life that probably made him happier than life with Mickey ever had.

//

In another city, closer than he knew, a boy with red hair and green eyes was thinking just the opposite.


	2. I Can't Sleep but I Can Dream of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An injury and a reunion :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter two guys!! Hope you like it x
> 
> the chapter is named for the song Gravity by Eden

When Mickey woke up the next morning, his neck had a crick in it from sleeping awkwardly on the ground. He, Lili and Ramirez had collapsed after a night of little math, and a lot of beer. The house was filled with silence, emptier than usual as James and Tiny were out on a run. Their main crew was smaller than most. They had associates, but there were only five people who worked directly under Sanchez. Mickey was glad he was part of those five. He sat up gingerly, moving his aching limbs even as they protested loudly. Jesus, he needed to take a leak. The twins were asleep on the couch, and Mickey moved quietly so he wouldn’t wake them up. He made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself, lighting a cigarette as he went. Five minutes later, he emerged, only to find that nothing had changed in the front room. Lili was still passed out with her head on her brother’s chest, and Ramirez still had his stupid I-got-fucked-today grin. Mickey nudged aside the affection he felt for the two, before walking to Sanchez’s room.

Sanchez woke early, before anyone else in the house. Ironically enough, he had been a military boy all his life and old habits die hard. He still woke up at the crack of dawn every morning, so Mickey had no qualms about walking into his boss’ office at six thirty in the morning. He knocked lightly, calling, “Hey boss.” A grunt of allowance crossed over the door and Mickey let himself in. “Hey, Milo. Good morning, my boy, isn’t it a lovely day?” The older man was in tracks and a tanktop, yet commanded the same respect as he did in his Italian suits. “I wouldn’t fucking know,” Mickey bitched half-heartedly, “I haven’t even opened my eyes yet.” Sanchez’s deafening laugh filled the room, quieting a little when Mickey shot a cautious look outside, where the twins were still fast asleep.

“Okay, Milo, I’ve got something I need you to do,” Sanchez started with no preamble, “Enzo promised me payment two weeks ago, half a million, no small amount. I need you to do what you do, but alone. Enzo’s met you before; I think that he might be calmer if you’re the one to talk to him, eh?” Mickey’s smile twisted down. Enzo Carlin was not his favourite person. He was nobody’s favourite person. The man owned half the clubs in Mexico City and spent all the money he made on drugs of every variety. Despite all his money and resources, Enzo played as dirty as a fourteen year old in the Southside. Mickey scowled, but knew better than to refuse. Sanchez was right; Ramirez and Lili had never come in contact with the guy before, they would probably lap up the charismatic businessman vibe he had going on. He nodded hesitantly, “I’ll do it. When d’you want me to go?” “Now,” came Sanchez’s response, “As soon as possible, Milo. He’s off to the Bahamas next week for wedding number six,” here Sanchez sardonically laughed. Mickey cracked a smirk, before nodding and leaving to get ready.

He left the room, closing the door behind him. Lili was up, grabbing her aching head in the kitchen. “Fuck, Milo, you should have stopped me,” she moaned. He laughed, but quietly, so it didn’t aggravate her hangover. He grabbed a cupful of the coffee she had made, ignoring her protests with a grin. “I need this more than you do, bitch. Sanchez’s got me paying Enzo a visit today,” He informed her. Her fond smile disappeared instantly at the mention of Enzo. “I don’t like it,” She said sharply, “The guy’s a dick. I’ll come with.” 

Mickey was shaking his head before she even finished her sentence. “No fucking way. You’re staying here and working on calculus.” He shushed her protests and went to his room to get ready. The very idea of Lili being around Enzo made him sick. The guy was as sleazy as they come, and Mickey had no faith that fiancée six would stop him from hitting on Lili. Mickey had grown up biting his tongue as douchebag after douchebag hit on his sister, while Mandy welcomed them with open arms. Her sexuality was Mandy’s weapon, Mickey realised, the one thing she thought she had to offer in the world. But Lili wasn’t like that. She was innocent and good, somehow, even having grown up amongst the Mexican drug lords. She was Sanchez’s adopted daughter of sorts, after her parents, members of Sanchez’s gang, had died. She had been protected, sheltered. The Sanchez name was enough to dissuade most, but Enzo was different than most. He thought he was a level above the rest, playing with the cartel, thinking his money would protect him. He was wrong. But he was good business, so Sanchez and the other heads let him stick around. 

Mickey slipped into one of the suits he had for a few choice deals, such as this one. The suit had some fancy Italian label or another; they all looked the same to him. Mickey Milkovich had gone days without eating as a kid. Now he was wearing clothes worth thousands. It seemed like a step up in the world, even if it was drug money. The suit was a dark grey, according to the others, but just looked like fucking black to him. The white shirt and blue tie contrasted with it, and altogether it made him look like someone else. Sometimes, Mickey would look at himself in the mirror and not recognise himself. But that wasn’t an entirely bad thing. When you were Mickey Milkovich, abandoned by your family, by good luck and by the man you loved. He shook that last melancholy thought out of his head, before slipping out of his room. Lili and Ramirez stood waiting for him like he was going to war or something. From the look on Ramirez’s face, Lili had told him where Mickey was going. “I don’t like it,” Ramirez commented, echoing his sister. “Guys, I’ll be fine. Stop acting like fucking war widows or whatever,” and with that Mickey turned to leave, but shot the two one last grin to pacify them. Then he got into the black Jeep waiting outside, and drove away.

//

The Sanchez house was out of the way, surrounded by woods. If you went a little ahead, you would enter a nice locality with red brick houses and kids with iphones bumping into each other on their way to their parents’ Audis. Enzo’s neighbourhood, on the other hand, was a place where the wrong kind of billionaires came out to play. It was full of seedy pubs and gambling dens where bets rose higher than Mickey could count. It was dark, dingy, and Mickey felt a chill set into his bones the moment he entered it. He drove up to Enzo’s near mansion, parking right outside and checking the locks twice. Enzo’s guards knew who he was, and led him to one of Enzo’s many cars. He got into the Lamb, nervously thumbing the gun tucked into his jeans. They drove for about five minutes, to a club that was less seedy than usual, called ‘Enter the Dragon’. Mickey rolled his eyes at the overtly dramatic name, following the guards in. 

The club was loud, and smelled like booze and stale weed. It was chiefly populated men in business suits, dancers catering to all kinds of preferences. Mickey twisted his face into his trademark scowl before entering the private room Enzo had, seeing as he owned the club. He walked in to see the familiar curly haired, handsome man sitting, surrounded by both male and female dancers. “Mickey,” Enzo greeted, eyes lighting up with interest the way they always seemed to around him. “Enzo,” Mickey greeted with a nod, cautiously sitting down on the free sofa opposite Enzo and his entourage. “What are you doing here, darling?” Enzo asked, caressing the words, shaking off the dancers that clung to his arms to lean closer. Enzo was clearly going for slow seduction, only succeeding in making Mickey uncomfortable. Enzo was an attractive man, but knowing the kind of person he was took away any attraction he could ever have to him. Plus, clubs and private rooms weren’t the kind of things that won Mickey. Mickey either went for quick fucks in alleys and motel rooms, or for... Ian. Still, after years, his heart was loyal even when he didn’t want it to be.

“Cut the bullshit, Enzo,” Mickey responded sharply, annoyance at his own thoughts seeping into his voice, “You know why I’m here. You owe Sanchez half a mil. Time to collect, darling,” He imitated Enzo’s sugar sweet tone mockingly. Enzo sat back, smile turning slightly grotesque. “Honey, this is a club. Relax, have a drink,” He continued in the same sickeningly sweet voice, but his eyes were more careful. “Enzo, let’s not make this harder than it has to be. Pay me, I’ll leave. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be,” Mickey said, trying the more diplomatic route. “But I do want you, darling. Here, and in my bed.” Mickey shuddered ever so lightly at the mere thought, something that didn’t escape Enzo’s attention. 

“Oh, you won’t be complaining after I take care of you,” Enzo licked his lips lightly, but gestured to one of his thugs to grab a briefcase. “I was expecting you,” He adds, gesturing to the simple, black leather bag, no doubt full of money. Mickey reached out an expectant hand, waiting to receive the money and get the fuck out of the club and away from the creepy dick in front of him. The bag is handed to him, and that’s it. That should be it. 

But what followed was utter chaos. When Mickey leaned in to grab the briefcase, Enzo grabbed him around the neck and shoved their lips together. Mickey felt sick and violated, wondering why the hell he had agreed to do this. Oh yeah, Lili. He shouldn’t have assumed that Enzo just sexually target women. He smacked Enzo back with a punch, a reflex action from his childhood. And with a reflex action of his own, the guard closest to Enzo sensed a threat, pointed his gun at Mickey’s shoulder and shot.

“Fuck!” Mickey cried out, clutching his shoulder and falling back slightly. “Roberto!” Enzo shouted sharply, silently telling his guard to back off, before focussing on Mickey again. “Darling,” He said, with a little nervous giggle that told Mickey the man was high off his ass, “Let me take care of you.” 

His double meaning was obvious and Mickey spat out a, “Fuck you,” before grabbing the briefcase with his uninjured arm and staggered out. He hoped no one would notice and that he could make it out and call Ramirez or Lili without alerting anyone else. No such luck. A woman stood right next to the door to the private room and let out a scream like a banshee the moment she saw him. Sooner than he thought possible, Mickey was the centre of everyone’s attention. He felt like a deer caught in headlights, staring back at all these people, hoping no one would call the cops. Because Mickey had half a million dollars in drug money on him, and discovery could ruin the entire Sanchez operation. So he was grateful when he heard someone call out, “Let me through! I’m an EMT!” 

Mickey figured it would be easier to escape from the hold of one person if the EMT decided to drive him to the hospital himself. That was a lot better than the entire cavalry surrounding him if someone called the emergency number. However, through his pain, when he recognised the EMT’s voice, he half wished the cops had come instead. 

Red hair.

Green eyes.

That voice.

That voice, that was now asking, filled with wonder, “Mickey?”

That face, to which he responded, already afraid of what this reunion would mean for him, “Gallagher.”


	3. Please Don't Go, I Want You So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey's shot in the shoulder, but his heart hurts more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter name is taken from the song Please Don't Go by Barcelona

It was one of those moments. You know, the kind where you can feel your life changing, your future shifting somehow. It terrified Mickey, and it drew him in. The face, the features still seemed so familiar after seeing them for barely a few days three years ago. “Gallagher,” He muttered, trying to convince himself of the authenticity of what he was seeing. Hallucinations? Mickey had been pretty fucked up after the whole debacle, but he had never hallucinated before. “Mickey,” Ian breathed again, like his name was a prayer. Just like that, Mickey knew this wasn’t some sick dream, it was reality. Because Mickey had heard his own name, said that way, only by one person. Only one person had said his name like it was something precious.

“Gallagher,” He said one last time, more decisively, drawing his own attention back to the situation on hand, “Help me up.” He reached out with his uninjured side, grimacing as waves of pain still touched him. “Wh- what?” Ian said, clearly still caught up in the dazed uh-what-the-fuck stage Mickey had just snapped out of. “Help. Me. Up,” Mickey insinuated his words more clearly; he had to get the hell out of this club before one of his fellow guests called the cops. Ian came back to himself, quickly bending down to support Mickey’s weight with his own, gently holding the shorter boy upright. He leaned down to pick up the briefcase full of money. If Ian was anyone else, Mickey would’ve hissed at the thought of them touching half a million he was responsible for. But this was Ian. Despite his better judgement, probably a stupid decision in itself, Mickey would always trust him.

The two boys made their way through the crowd, people parting like he was Moses or some shit. They all wanted to avoid the dangerous thug amidst them. Mickey felt their judgement. He usually wouldn’t mind it but... Ian was here. Ian, who had left Mickey because a lowlife like him wasn’t what he wanted anymore. Ian, who had told Mickey that their wild, dangerous love just wasn’t him anymore. And here he was, three years later. After three fucking years, the first thing Ian was seeing was him getting shot over a drug deal. Same old Mickey Milkovich. Mickey shrugged off the embarrassment coursing through him, focussing on the ground and the pain in his shoulder instead.

The air was cool on Mickey’s skin, relieving him after the hot, sweaty atmosphere of the club. “Mickey, how-“ Ian began, but Mickey cut him off sharply. He needed to get out of there ASAP, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for small talk with the boy who had broken his heart. “Car, Gallagher. I need you to get me the fuck away from here,” He snapped. Ian looked surprised for a second, before nodding and helping Mickey to a Honda parked in the lot. Mickey wanted to sardonically laugh at the sight of the little silver coupe. It was so pretentious, so fucking suburban, and just what Mickey had expected out of EMT Ian. Ian opened the door to the passenger seat, helping Mickey in. “Don’t wanna stain your seat, Gallagher,” Mickey commented lightly, and bitterness seeped through his words. Ian looked up, eyes filled with hurt. Tough shit. “Mickey, I don’t give a fuck about that right now, c’mon,” He tried to appeal to Mickey. His voice choked in the middle, choked up like he was going fucking cry or some shit. It made Mickey angry. Angry because he was sitting there with a bullet through his shoulder after being attacked by a druggie in the car of the boy who had abandoned him five steps from Mexico and IAN was the one crying. 

“Whatever,” Mickey spat, not having the energy to fight at the moment. He rejected that thought. He would never have that fight with Ian, because this was it. After Ian dropped him off at some middle location where the actual house couldn’t be identified, he was done with Ian Gallagher. He was not about to give Ian another chance to break his heart. “Drive down this way,” Mickey said, pointing out the path they had to take. Too bad the journey was so long. Mickey was ready to jump out of the moving car at that point. 

Especially when Ian opened his stupid mouth. “Mickey, how have you been? I... I missed you,” he stated nervously. This time Mickey let out the sardonic laugh he had been holding in for so long. “Sure you did,” his heart constricted because Ian could never have missed Mickey the way he had missed Ian. Ian flinched a little at that. “I did, and I want to apolo-“ Mickey shook his head sharply, cutting the younger boy off. “Fuck no. I’m not doing this with you Gallagher. Not again.” Mickey had had enough of the heart to hearts, of baring his soul to someone who just hurt him, over and over again. Mickey had had enough of being weak and vulnerable in front of Ian. It gave him too much power over how Mickey felt. And that power was dangerous in a way few other things were.

Silence filled the small car, before Ian attempted again, “At least let me help you. This is my job, Mickey.” Mickey’s head was shaking before Ian even finished his sentence. The thought of Ian’s fingers on him, touching his skin, made him scared. Because he knew he would fall right back down the rabbit hole of loving Ian again. He recoiled away from Ian’s touch, and yet more of that godforsaken hurt stabbed him through Ian’s green eyes, black in the darkness of the car. “You don’t gotta do that. I’ve got people to help me.” With that Mickey remembered he should inform his gang members what had happened. He pulled out his burner cell from his back pocket, flinching slightly. He dialled Ramirez’s number, putting it on speaker so he didn’t have to hold it up. The ringing filled the silence in the car. Ramirez picked up with a loud, “Hey, baby!” Mickey smiled despite himself, catching Ian’s confusion through the corner of his eye. “Hey,” He muttered, voice slightly choked due to pain, “Listen, I need you to come to my place. The thing went off track.” Ramirez spoke more seriously, “The fuck do you mean it went off track?” he asked. “The fuck do you think I mean? I’ve got a bullet through my fucking shoulder,” Mickey snapped.

“Fuck, I’m on my way. How are you getting there?” Ramirez asked, referring to the cliffside that Mickey had adopted as his own, where no one went but him. “I’ve got a ride,” he pacified his worried friend. “A ride? With who?” Ramirez persisted. Mickey paused. His gang members knew most of his shit, but Ian was one story he had yet to tell them. “No one. He’s no one,” He responded, seeing Ian bite his lower lip, eyes filling with pain. “Okay,” Ramirez said, thankfully not pressing further, “I’ll be there, Milo. Be safe. I love you.” 

The last statement wasn’t unusual when it came to Ramirez and Lili. They were extremely affectionate people. Probably from losing their parents so early, Mickey had hypothesised. But Mickey and Ian were not like them. I love you’s weren’t something they just said. It took Mickey years to tell Ian how he felt. And Ian hadn’t told Mickey until that last moment next to the border. So when Mickey responded, “You too,” he could see Ian physically flinch. Mickey could guess his thought process. That Mickey had found someone, someone he cared about enough to tell them he loved them, someone who had replaced Ian in his life. Jealousy coated Ian’s face, though pride prevented him from actually questioning Mickey. Good, Mickey thought sadistically. Let Ian be jealous, let him hurt, let him see Mickey moving on. Mickey also basked in the jealousy somewhat, because you weren’t jealous unless you cared, right? He could feel Ian’s distress moving through his bones, his distress at the fact that someone got an ‘I love you’ and Ian was ‘no one’.

Anyway, what right had Ian earned to be jealous? If Mickey had been anyone else, he would have had a string of at least rebounds over the last three years. But that was not the case. His heart stubbornly belonged to Ian, still basking in that ownership like a dog that looked for its master after being dumped at the pound. 

It was almost masochistic, Mickey’s love for Ian.

Mickey watched Ian watch him, his jaw clenched angrily. He watched Ian reason with himself, tell himself that he had no right to say anything. Even after so long, Mickey could read Ian like his favourite book. Okay, maybe he didn’t really HAVE a favourite book considering reading hadn’t been high up on his list of priorities as a kid, but the comparison seemed apt. Ian’s reasoning won, just as it had three years ago at the border, and he clamped his mouth shut. They drove in unbearable silence once more, and Mickey could see that Ian was itching to ask him more about his life, to probe deeper the way he always did. Mickey, too, found himself wondering about how Ian had been. How were the rest of the annoying ass Gallaghers? How was Mandy doing? How was Ian’s job? What the fuck was he doing in Mexico? Was he still with that boyfriend? No, Mickey didn’t want to know the answer to the last one. Questions flooded him, filling his mind, making him dizzy. The dizziness came in waves, making in waver a little and fall back against the seat.

“Mickey?” came Ian’s urgent, concerned, infuriating voice, “Mickey, what’s wrong?” Mickey swallowed back his nausea, before sitting straighter and saying, “Nothing, nothing is wrong with me. Keep your eyes on the fucking road, Gallagher.” This time, he didn’t even bother looking at Ian. All the pain he was causing Ian with his words today was guilt-inducing, but also intoxicating in its own way. It gave him an outlet for the pain and rage he had felt because of the redhead for the last couple of years. He wanted to laugh at Ian’s reaction to a couple of harsh statements. This wasn’t even close to what Mickey truly wanted to tell him. If he could say all that, god Ian would have bleeding, gaping wounds all over his fucking body. And Mickey didn’t want that. No matter how much Ian had hurt him in the past, and would continue to until Mickey got amnesia or some shit, Mickey did not want to hurt him back.

Fuck, he wanted to blank out his own thoughts. They were ones sixteen year old Mickey would have never let himself think, let alone ponder on. But Mickey had grown since that angry boy he had been. He had thought that would be enough, that his future would be different. But, fuck, had he been wrong. 

Finally, the Honda approached his spot. He told Ian to slow down, thanking the stars that the awkward ride was over. It could have been different. Mickey could have given himself to Ian again, taken him home, started from where they had left off. But he couldn’t. He would not do that to himself again, it wasn’t worth the inevitable heartbreak. They reached the cliff edge, where Mickey had a little tent (yes it was dorky, no he did not care) set up. “Well, this is me, Gallagher,” He said, trying to act nonchalant and not like his heart was collapsing at yet another goodbye. He could see Ian wanting to say more, wanting to make this substantial. “Can I... can I see you again?” Ian asked finally, hopefully. “Gallagher, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mickey responded, against everything inside him. 

Ian’s face crumpled, and Mickey could hear tears in his voice as he said, “Oh. Okay.” He got out of the car, helped Mickey out too and led him to the tent. Mickey sat inside, on the sleeping bag he always kept there, briefcase placed next to him, saying, “Okay. Guess this is it.” Ian looked away. “Let me stay till someone comes for you. If something happens... I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Mickey shook his head urgently. “No. You go. Ain’t nothing that’ll hurt me more than you did, eh Gallagher?” He smiled slightly, trying to make sense of his heart breaking yet again. Ian’s face crumpled. “Mickey, I’m sorry for everything,” He whispered, getting up, “I love you.” 

Mickey was silent, looking up at Ian’s face, memorising it. 

Then Ian left.

Ten minutes later, Ramirez found Mickey in the darkness, solar lamp off, trembling. And it wasn’t because of the pain.

Mickey appreciated the fact that Ramirez didn’t once question the tears streaming down his face on the way home.

//

In another city, closer than either boy knew, a redhead with a regrettable tattoo was pulling his hair out, hating himself in the worst way a human being possibly could, missing the love of his life in a way that hearts never should.


	4. You Talked to Me in a Broken Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's a mess after he drops Mickey off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I know this one's shorter than the others, but I'm travelling for a week after today so I wanted to leave you with something before I go. Wanted to give Ian a chance to show his point of view too!
> 
> hope you like it xxx
> 
> The chapter is named for Discoloration by Dawn Golden

    Ian made it half a mile from Mickey’s drop off spot before he decided to pull over for the safety of himself and anyone else on the same road as him. He was a shaking, shuddering mess, slobbering all over his car’s seats, the subtle scent of Mickey still lingering in the enclosed space. He sobbed, loud and uncaring, because his heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest and he was alone and he didn’t have to be quiet. His mind was learning to behave again, under his control after a new combination of meds that had been working for more than a year now. So this wasn’t a bipolar low. This was a human low, the way a person was allowed to mourn when their heart was breaking. He had seen it in Mickey’s eyes; that same hurt that he was feeling now. He had no right to feel bad, Ian reminded himself, all the hurt and separation had been his doing. He had hurt Mickey, and by extension, hurt himself. It had been all him. Now Mickey could barely even look at him.

 

   Mickey’s bitter words rang in his ears: _“Ain’t nothing that’ll hurt me more than you did, eh Gallagher?”_ In his heart of hearts, Ian knew that Mickey was right, that Ian had hurt him in the worst way possible. Mickey had given him his trust, and his love, and Ian had just hurt him over and over. Ian knew it, and he hated that knowledge. But somehow, somewhere, he still wanted to fix things with the raven haired boy that owned his heart, even three years later. He had lost the right to lay claim on Mickey’s love; he had to fight for it now.

 

   And he was ready to do that. He was ready to lay down his pride and his arrogance to earn just one more smile from Mickey Milkovich, the boy he had loved since they were teenagers. Ian still belonged to Mickey, but he was afraid Mickey didn’t feel the same anymore. Because who was that guy, who had told Mickey he loved him, and gotten the same response in return? Who was that guy who had called Mickey, his Mickey, ‘baby’, while Ian was no one to him?

 

   Ian wanted to slap his own stupid, entitled face. Mickey was not his anymore, had not been since Ian had ripped his heart out so callously. Not just once, but twice. And yet, his heart refused to see his logic. His heart wanted all the complications to disappear, to back there and claim the boy he loved and never let him go again. But Mickey... Mickey hadn’t wanted that. Mickey had thought that them seeing each other wasn’t a bad idea.

 

   Ian couldn’t blame him. Mickey and him could never just be friends, or fuck buddies again. There was too much emotion, too much history between them. And Mickey wasn’t looking to get his heart broken yet again. When he had broken out of prison, he had sought Ian out, he had taken him back with open arms. That time, yet again, Ian had let him down. Of course he thought associating with Ian was a bad idea. Of course, he wanted Mr. Phone Guy instead of him. Mr. Phone Guy probably hadn’t ripped him apart. He probably hadn’t betrayed him and left him. But, Ian was sure, Mr. Phone Guy would never love Mickey the way he did either.

 

   It took half an hour before he felt calm enough to drive enough again, till his self loathing tucked itself back into the darker corners of his mind. He switched on the radio, flipping from one channel to another, listening to romantic song after romantic song, wondering if the universe was trying to collectively send him on a guilt trip. I already am, he assured it. He drove down the empty roads, devoid of any life. He wondered exactly how his night had gone in this direction. He was just visiting a club with some people from work for a drink, and he had ended up crying in his car after the love of his life had been shot and then suggested they never see each other again.

 

   Never see each other again. The statement seemed to final, so damning. Never seeing Mickey again. Never seeing his smile, never making him laugh, never kissing him again. It seemed like a cruel joke, an unfunny one at that. When Ian had been offered a job in Mexico he had jumped at it. Not because his fugitive former lover was there, no, not at all. Because the pay was good and they were giving him an apartment and he needed a change. It didn’t matter that every time he saw a mop of dark hair, his heart jumped. Never mind that when he saw an employee of the month at Starbucks named Mickey, he had gone there every day until he caught sight of the (unfamiliar) man.

 

   And yet, after months of convincing himself he wasn’t here for Mickey, he had now given up. How could he convince himself Mickey meant nothing to him, when he meant so much? When Mickey meant the world... Mickey WAS everything. Their stories were so irrevocably twisted together. No matter how far they ran, no matter how much they diverted, they always ended up next to each other again. If that wasn’t love, what was?

 

   It means we take care of each other. Good times, bad times, sickness, health; all that shit. Mickey’s words rang true, truer that anything Ian had ever heard. He wanted to smack himself for how he had reacted, for how he had shoved aside Mickey’s feelings. Ian had lots of regrets in his life, his relationships with older men, his days at the club, running away with Yev, the tattoo on his abdomen that showed a picture of an eagle holding a rifle. Jesus, what was he thinking?

 

   But most of all, he regretted all the times that he had hurt Mickey, which seemed to be the most of all. Ian felt terrible, and guilty, that the person he had hurt most was also the one he loved the most. It was bitter, and ironic, but also true.

 

   When Ian got home, he numbly unlocked the door to his state provided one bedroom. It was nothing special, with a single room and a tiny kitchen only two people could squeeze into at a time. It was small and could barely fit a couch, yet it felt huge and lonely to Ian. The queen sized bed felt cold and barren, the second bedside table looked at him mockingly. It wasn’t home when he was all alone. Home didn’t have to be a place. Home could also be a person. Ian had learnt that a long time ago. He had learnt that when the Milkovich household would be freezing cold in the winter, but Mickey and Ian would wander off to some abandoned building or another, set fire to old school textbooks and smoke weed. He had learnt that when the Gallagher house was full of people, but felt empty because that one person wasn’t there. He was learning it now.

 

   Ian wasn’t going to pretend he was some kind of celibate nun. Quite the opposite, actually. Lip often joked about him being the ‘New Fiona’; something that made both him and Fiona scowl. It was true enough. He had had a string of meaningless relationships after Mickey had re-entered his life and he had broken up with Trevor. For a second there, Ian had thought that Trevor was someone he could build a relationship with, but a couple of days with Mickey had shattered that illusion. Ian and Mickey had... fire... something he could never find with anyone else. His own words came back to him, _‘What if nothing ever gives you that thrill again?’_ Nothing ever had. Caleb, Trevor, they were safe and easy. With them, Ian could pretend that domesticity and dates made a happy relationship. But being with Mickey had given him a taste of that passion again, and once you had a taste of it, how could you settle for any less?

 

   He dropped his keys onto the ‘dining table’ that was really just an old piece of junk from the Gallagher basement, and made his way to the bedroom. He shed his clothing somewhere along the way, deciding to forgo nightly rituals for sleep instead. His sleepy, worn out body was grateful. He sighed as he tucked himself under the covers, trying to adjust his position and get comfortable. He had been taken his pills for long enough that he had adjusted to them, no longer made drowsy by them earlier than he normally would. But he was utterly exhausted by the events of the day, and he fell asleep right after his head touched the pillow. Right before sleep swallowed him, he made a resolution. He, Ian Gallagher, would win the love of his life back, one way or another. He would earn back his trust and never break it again. With that thought, Ian fell asleep, thinking of the raven eyed boy who owned him, heart and soul.

 

//

 

   In his bed, that very raven haired boy was crying into his pillow, trying to pull himself back from a rabbit hole he fell into every time. Because he loved Ian, and the night’s events felt too much like serendipity to ignore.


	5. Do You Remember The Way It Made You Feel?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A much needed conversation happenens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short I know I knOW I'm sorry
> 
> So I decided to change each chapter name to be a line from a song, so you can go back and see the others if you want! I love them all and you should definitely try hearing them :) This chapter's title is from the song Do You Remember by Jarryd James

   Mickey spent the next two days in a dazed way, not leaving his room and barely touching the food the twins got him. They didn’t ask him about, thank fuck, but he saw their confused and concerned glances every time they crossed him. He wanted to put them out of their misery, but recounting his and Ian’s story would toss him back into the endless stream of misery he was trying to claw his way out of. Ian was a story he could never tell.

 

   Ian.

 

   _Ian._

   Ian, who had said he loved Mickey. Ian, who wanted them to meet again. Ian, who Mickey still loved with every part of his piece of shit heart. He thought he was getting over it, that he was finally learning to live without Ian. But one look at him, and Mickey was hooked all over again. Mickey _did_ like his new life, but it still felt like he would only love it if Ian was there by his side.  

 

   He could feel himself tripping, feel his facade slipping. His confidence in his anti-Ian stance was shaking, as it always did. He tried to hold onto it, to the surety that he couldn’t just fall back into Ian again. But he could not find it in himself.

 

   Mickey sighed, staring up at the blank ceiling in the darkness. Some days, you just needed to escape, he resolved, getting dressed for the first time in days to go to the cliffside where he could find some calm. He pulled on some old sweats and a ratty t-shirt- who gave a fuck? He looked at his phone for a second, considering, before leaving it on his bed. He silently moved down the stairs and out the door, eyes briefly catching sight of the twins the living room. He breathed a sigh of relief, let out the breath he had been holding, when he was able to leave unnoticed. He wasn’t ready for the conversation, the explanations yet. He got into his black jeep and drove away, turning off the radio the moment it switched on in favour of being alone in the silence.

 

   It took about fifteen minutes to reach the place, but Mickey instantly knew something was off. He wasn’t alone. He pulled his gun out of the glove compartment, moving carefully towards the tent. When he saw who it was, he calmed. He wasn’t a threat.

 

   Alternatively, perhaps Ian was the biggest threat to Mickey of all.

 

   “The _fuck_ are you doin’ here, Gallagher?” He asked with no preamble, startling Ian. “Fuck!” Ian cried out, jumping up and breathing harshly. Once he calmed down slightly, he nervously said, “Mickey?” Unlike Ian, Mickey was even more tightly wound up than before. “I said, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?” He asked again, surprise making him sound harsher than he meant to. “I needed to see you,” Ian offered up lamely, echoing the words he said when he had run up to Mickey’s door panting, all those years ago. “You saw me two days ago,” Mickey pointed out sharply. “Not enough,” Ian insisted, “I need to explain. I need to make you _understand._ I didn’t mean to-“ 

 

   Mickey shook his head. “Fuck no. I don’t wanna hear it, Gallagher.” Ian got that look in his eyes, the stubborn part of him behind the happy-go-lucky guy coming alive. Mickey knew at the moment that he wasn’t getting out of there without hearing apologies and explanations. Explanations that would never be enough, apologies that would leave him a mess right in front of Ian. He tried to beg Ian with his eyes to leave now, to not break him down, but for once he didn’t seem to read Mickey’s emotions. Or maybe he was ignoring them on purpose.

 

   “Mickey,” Ian began, and Mickey could already feel his walls crumbling, “I’m so fucking sorry for everything I did and the way I ended it. You didn’t deserve that. No one does. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but _please_ Mickey, I don’t want us to be over like this. I’ve never... _fuck..._ I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I don’t... don’t think I ever will.”

 

   Ian finished his speech, looking at Mickey with hopeful eyes. There was a time when just that first ‘sorry’ would’ve pulled Mickey back to him again. But now, the bitterness of the three years alone, the abandonment, the years in prison before that, made his shell harder. That made him say the next few harsh sentences.

 

   “You love me? _You_ love _me?”_ Insert sardonic laugh here, “ _Bullshit._ ” Ian winced, eyes shining suspiciously. “You left me. Every _fucking_ time. Every time things got hard. You didn’t stick by me, you didn’t stand by me when I needed you.” There were tears in Mickey’s eyes, too, now. Or maybe they were streaming down his face. Who gave half a flying fuck? “I _loved_ you and you left me every time! You might as well have stabbed me through the heart!”

 

   Ian’s hands were shaking now. Mickey could see it. He longed to stop speaking, to reach out and still them with his warm fingers and his love. But he kept talking. The words were a bit quieter now, since Ian emitted a soft, painful sound and half covered his face with his right hand. “ _I_ stayed. _I_ was there when you needed me. If it was me, Gallagher, even if I had the fancy job and the fucking _boyfriend_ , I would’ve dropped it all to cross that border with you in a second.” His voice sounded tired to his own ears. Not just tired of speaking, or of crying. Tired of his life. Tired of living. Tired of feeling like a piece of his heart was missing. The tiredness seeped into his bones, becoming physical weakness as he lowered himself to the ground. “How could you just leave me all alone?” He whispered, mostly to himself.

 

   A strange, animalistic choking sound emitted from Ian’s throat as he started crying in earnest, unable to even breathe. “I’m sorry,” He gasped, “I’m sorry I left you. All those times. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I hate...” He paused to suck in some air, “I hate me, Mick. But I do love you. I love you so fucking much.”

 

   Mickey was glad his back was facing Ian, as he lowered his head and silently felt tears gushing down his face in a seemingly endless stream. He was glad he couldn’t see a heartbroken Ian. He was glad Ian couldn’t see a heartbroken him.

 

   Ian sat next to Mickey hesitantly, and Mickey was too tired to protest. They sat in relative silence for some time, trying to lock away that pain, trying to get over the confrontation.  Finally, Mickey said softly, “ _I_ don’t.” Ian looked up, eyes red and dull, “Don’t what?” Same as the way he had said the day before Ian had left for the army. “I don’t hate you.”

 

   Ian breathed like he was coming up for air, like he had been drowning till Mickey had granted him absolution. Mickey could relate, being here, with Ian again, was like being allowed to breathe after three years of slow strangulation. “How can you not?” Ian said, perhaps not believing his ears, that Mickey could say all that he said before and still not hate him. It sounded like hate, but when Ian reflected, it also sounded a lot like heartbreak.

 

   “I don’t think I could ever hate you. Fuck, I wish I could. That would be easier.” Ian looked down, and Mickey wondered at the current situation. Sure, what Ian had said earlier was right; they always found their way back to each other. But... how? Ian running away with his mom was a couple of days. The army, too, had a deadline. But Mexico? Mexico had seemed... permanent. That last kiss had seemed like goodbye. Like they were over for real this time. Mickey had never allowed himself to believe that any other time that Ian had disappeared on him. Their relationship always seemed inevitable, like two magnets circling each other, waiting to draw close together once more. But that feeling when he had crossed the border, never to return, that constant hope had faded in a way it never had before.

 

   Here he was, three years later, back in the same passionate soap opera that was their relationship yet again. He wanted to laugh at the situation. So he did. “Fuck you Gallagher,” He chuckled, voice still slightly thick, “Leave it to you to bring all this drama to fucking _Mexico._ ” Ian cracked a smile, soon laughing properly. It was just like old times. Him and Ian, laughing together in some shitty place or the other. Their laughs were slightly hysterical, but hey, at least they weren’t fucking crying anymore. That seemed like a win to him.

 

  


	6. Darling I Could Never Live Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peace, a sleepover, stars and a panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii guys! today's chapter title is from the song Safe Inside by James Arthur
> 
> hope you like it x

    There are moments of peace, Mickey realizes, even in his life. Mickey hasn’t been granted many of those, growing up the way he did, living his life the way he did. He could recall a few from childhood; with his mom and siblings when Terry was away, getting high with Mandy in those early days when a couple of inhales filled him with that happiness he could never truly achieve. But most of the peaceful memories he had in his life were with Ian. Arguing over Seagal and van Damme in the back of the Kash and Grab. Ian buying him weed with bright eyes when Mandy let it slip it was Mickey’s birthday. Waking up late in the morning with Ian’s body pressed against his.

 

    Ian had been his oasis in the midst of the Southside, a breath of fresh air amongst all the hurt. Until he had become the person who had hurt him the most. Some resentment flared up again, but it was weaker now. Mickey could feel the knot in his chest, right under that tattoo, loosening after all these years of hurting. That confrontation, that outburst of emotions, had been exactly wwhat he had needed. And now they were here, caught in another peaceful moment, sharing a bottle of Jack Mickey had in his glove compartment. He had grabbed it when he went to put his gun back. Ian had a couple sips; Mickey had half a bottle, but they were both around the same level of drunk.

 

   “I have no fucking clue how you did it Mick. I wanted to hurl the moment she touch me,” Ian was relating the story of when he had tried screwing a girl for the first time in his life. Mickey giggled drunkenly, “I didn’t fuck Angie,” He admitted, and Ian looked at him with wide, confused eyes. “Me and Angie, we had an... understanding. We didn’t fuck, but we told everyone we did. It worked. No one would think I was gay, and no one would give her shit about not being able to get guys ‘cause of how she looked.” Angie had probably been the first person to figure he was gay. It was pretty fucking obvious, when he couldn’t get it up for five seconds. She hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t said anything. And they were both safe.

 

   “Shit, Mickey,” Ian commented after a long moment of silence, “I didn’t know that. If I had, I’d’ve never gone out with Ned.” When he saw Mickey’s utter confusion, he elaborated, “The guy you beat the shit out of at the club?” Recognition flickered in Mickey’s eyes, and he gave Ian a shit-eating grin, “The geriatric viagroid?” Ian rolled his eyes, but nodded. Mickey snorted, “Your grandpa thing was fucking weird, man.” Ian flushed but laughed, “Whatever. I haven’t dated a guy like that for a while now.”

 

   And there it came. The uncomfortable reminder that Ian _hadn’t_ waited, that he had dated an assortment of other guys. Ian sensed Mickey’s discomfort, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There weren’t that many, Mick. And... and they were never you.” Mickey scowled slightly but took that piece of comfort willingly. It took him a second, but the jealousy and bitterness subsided. He looked up, only to see Ian clearly contemplating whether or not to say something. “Spit it out, Gallagher,” He commented, startling Ian. “Okay,” Ian began hesitantly, “Just... the guy? On the phone?” Mickey knew the question would come sooner or later. He had seen Ian’s jealousy and hurt when Ramirez had greeted him, and told him he loved him. He saw the even deeper envy when Mickey had said it back. Mickey contemplated lying, or at least maintaining some mystery. Some part of him loved the jealousy in Ian’s eyes. But ultimately, the better part of him won out. “Just a friend, Gallagher,” he comforted, seeing Ian immediately relax, “Not a friend... family.”

 

   The jealousy was completely gone. Ian was grinning. It wasn’t just because Mickey was unattached and available. That was a contributing factor, obviously, a major one. But the word ‘family’ made him really happy too. It told him that Mickey hadn’t been alone, that he had people who loved him and took care of. He still felt agonized over Mickey’s harsh words about him leaving him. It was nothing Ian hadn’t told himself, but it still pained him to see how much it had hurt Mickey. But this small piece of information gave him so much comfort. “I’m glad,” Ian smiled, adding somewhat nervously, “I’m... not with anyone either right now. Haven’t really been since you... visited me.”

 

   Mickey could hear that tone in Ian’s voice. He knew it well; he had heard it many times in his llife. It was Ian being hopeful, expectant. There was a spark in his eyes, his smile was brilliant. As much as Mickey loved that expression on his face, he felt the need to clarify, “Ian, this doesn’t mean we’re just _okay._ ” Ian’s face fell slightly, so Mickey rushed to explain further if to preserve some of that childish innocence. “That doesn’t mean we’re done, okay? I need time. But I still...” he trailed off unable to finish, ending with an underwhelming, “You know?” The smile was back. “Yeah, I know,” Ian sighed, sounding half ecstatic and half relieved, “I’ll wait. It’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

 

   Mickey smiled up at him shyly. Ian looked down. They didn’t know it, but their hearts were beating hard and fast in tandem.

 

    Comfortable silence fell over them.

 

    Peace, Mickey thought. Ian, his mind supplied.

 

   Peace, Ian thought. Mickey, his mind supplied.

 

   There was a blanket under them, though they weren’t in the tent. It was the one Mickey lay out on the floor inside the tent when he came here alone. He was glad he wasn’t alone anymore. This place had been his, somewhere he never let anyone into. Now Ian was here. The place was still _his_ ; he was just sharing with the person he loved. _You want to spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?_ Mickey’s mind drudged up the long gone moment. In this spot, the sky looked brilliant with stars. The lit up the world and the two boys wouldn’t trade this _new_ moment in for anything.

    “Guess this is our _thing_ , Mick. Watching the stars.” Ian grinned up at him, teeth lightly shining in the darkness, making him look like a Chesire cat. Mickey would’ve snapped something about being _so fucking gay,_ but the moment was pretty damn amazing. Slowly, their hands inched together, and when Mickey felt Ian’s warm fingers against his, he knew he was falling all over again. Hand-holding had never really been their thing, but as their fingers curled lazily together, Mickey wondered _why._

 

   And there, facing the brilliantly lit up sky, with a thousand foot cliff drop by their feet and miles of nothingness behind them, next to the person he loved, Mickey fell into the best sleep he had had in three years.

 

 

//

 

 

   Mickey woke up lazily, slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Ian’s arm was wrapped around his middle the way it always had been before and his back was pressed against Ian’s warm body. He closed his eyes against the hot Mexican sun, trying to convince himself he was still asleep, cuddling back against Ian. It wasn’t working. He sighed, and got up.

 

   Mickey rarely woke up before Ian. Ian had always been the early riser; making pancakes and jogging. It wasn’t all just mania. Even before, when they were younger, Ian would be telling Mickey about a _beautiful sunrise_ he caught sight of while training while Mickey was probably still sleeping like the dead. Even when he was manic, Ian never became a stranger to Mickey. He could see pieces of Ian inside the person he was at that point too. Except when he had cheated on Mickey. That was Mickey had realised that _his_ Ian had truly been pressed down by his disease, that he needed help. Because _his_ Ian would never, _never_ play him that way.

 

   Mickey sighed, pressed his fingers against his eyes, trying to keep that betrayal from entering his mind. He reached out and took a swig of the bottle next to him, and then reached out to affectionately touch Ian’s peaceful face.

 

   Déjà vu hit him like a rock on the side of his head. Waking up just like this, at ease, feeling completely safe and loved, only to have Ian fall into a spiral that had led to the beginning of the end for them. His mind was spinning. Everything good was over. He recognized what was happening to him. This happened every so often, _panic attacks,_ Lili called them. Ever since the prison, and everything that happened there, being stuck there with no one to help him, he would have these random moments of panic where his world fell apart.

 

   Suddenly, Mickey felt sick. He rushed to his feet, jostling Ian in the process. “Mickey?” Ian asked tiredly, “What happened?” Mickey couldn’t answer him. He was too busy running to the edge of the cliff to puke. His body remembered too late that he hadn’t actually _eaten_ for days, so he was just bent over dry heaving. Ian followed, all the sleep gone from his face. “Mickey,” he murmured, touching the shuddering boy’s body soothingly. To his surprise, Mickey pushed him back, yelling, “No! Don’t touch me! Please I don’t- I can’t-“ All the fight drained out of Mickey as he collapsed against Ian. Ian’s heart broke as he watched the man he loved begging not to be touched. He couldn’t imagine the horrors Mickey’s panic may have originated from. There were tears running down Mickey’s face and he was gasping for air, but not actually inhaling anything.  “Mickey,” Ian said, quietly, soothingly, “ _Mickey,_ I need you to breathe for me. Can you feel me breathe?” He breathed deeper, moving his chest with more emphasis. Mickey nodded weakly against his chest. “Okay. Now I want you to breathe when I breathe.” Mickey followed as instructed. Breathing, finally, to Ian’s relief. “It’s okay, Mick,” Ian whispered into his ear, “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Never again.”

 

    Maybe it was naive, but Mickey believed him. Ian could feel the exact moment when Mickey’s mind gave up its choking hold on his body, when Mickey wilted into Ian like he never wanted to move again. They sit in relative silence, as Mickey panted and tried to remember how to breathe again. When he calms down enough, Ian quietly asks, “What was that, Mickey?” Mickey flinches because he’s not ready to tell Ian everything that happened to him. No one knows. It should stay that way. “Nothing, Gallagher,” he assures Ian, “It’s just something that happens now and then. Panic attacks or some shit.”He sees Ian open his mouth, unsatisfied; wanting more explanation that Mickey wasn’t ready to give him yet. Instead, he gives Ian a death glare that shuts him up immediately. Ian saw the panic and fear that filled Mickey; he wouldn’t push him, not about this.

 

   “Anyway,” Mickey said, getting up and brushing the dust off his clothes, “I should probably go, Gallagher.” Ian was scared that that was it, that one more night and some closure was all he got. “Wait, Mick,” he called, grabbing Mickey’s arm lightly, “Can I... have your number?” Mickey looked conflicted, but ultimately took the phone Ian was offering him and typed in his number. Ian saved the contact as _Mick_ with a huge smile, immediately setting the caller tone as the song ‘Hey, Mickey!’ the way he always had before. Mickey cracked a grin at that.

 

   As Mickey got into his car, Ian asked, “Will I see you again?”

 

   “Yeah, Gallagher. You’ll see me again.”

 

  //

 

 

   A couple miles down the road, Mickey couldn’t stop smiling. He probably looked insane, smiling at nothing. But he wasn’t smiling for no reason. He was smiling because of Ian. Because it felt like coming home.


	7. Lay Down Your Slow, Come Settle Down.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fluff and revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooow an update! Sorry I suck at updating, I love each and every person who gives this story a shot x
> 
> title of chapter taken from the song technicolor beat, by Oh Wonder

   It had been three days since the boys’ ‘sleepover’. Three days of absolute radio silence. Ian’s number on Mickey’s phone was teasing, tantalizing, drawing him in, and prompting him to type out a billion texts he eventually deleted. He felt a magnetic pull towards writing something to Ian, to take another step forward with him. But that same self preservation he had felt before was coming alive again. He was afraid, of what a simple _hey_ would lead to, of what heartbreak was still awaiting him. His drafts had ranged from a composed _hi_ to an urgent _meet me now_ with activities that were definitely not PG rated on his mind. He wasn’t afraid of rejection; he knew Ian was ready to fall back into their relationship. The question was for how long this time? A couple of days, months, _years_ that would feel like they would last forever? And then the pain that was inevitable, as they fell apart yet again.

 

   Mickey felt like every time he and Ian had ended, a small part of him chipped off again. He was already damaged goods, with everything else he had lived through in his life, but when the man he loved broke him, it hurt the worst. But some part of him felt more secure after the confrontation, like he had finally let out all the words he had never let out before. Mickey grasped on to that part with desperate fingers, not wanting to be the sad little boy he saw in the mirror. Mickey convinced himself it wasn’t just his responsibility; that Ian had his number too and could take the first step any time he wanted.

 

   It was only on that third day that Ian reached his hand out; the role he seemed to have taken up the past couple of days.

 

   _Hey, Mick_ , the text simply read, but it seemed to Mickey that those two words, two syllables could encapsulate the whole world. He played his cool, waiting three minutes was enough, right? _Hey_ , he replied calmly. _You free?_ His fingers continued without his permission. He sighed at the desperate tone that came through the text. _Sure,_ Ian’s response was almost instantaneous. That made Mickey crack a decidedly lovesick grin. _See you at the place?_ He questioned, receiving an immediate response: _I’ll be there in ten._

 

   Ian and Mickey had established many _places_ over the course of their tumultuous relationship. Kash ‘n’ Grab, the dugouts, the abandoned roof and for a few golden months, the Milkovich house. Those places had always been synonymous with home at some point or another; or it was just Ian that was home to Mickey. He grabbed his keys, not bothering with a fresh shirt, and made his way downstairs.

 

   “Where the fuck are you going?” Mickey winced as he heard Lili’s voice behind him. He had been hoping to leave without any explanations. He turned slowly, hesitantly, facing the angry girl who was nearly as tall as him (not an achievement) with a temper the size of Russia. “Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you since the deal with Enzo,” Her voice was accusing, making Mickey feel bad for his unexplained absence. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Lil. I just… I needed some time m’kay?” He hoped she would leave it at that, but the bitch was one of the most stubborn people he knew. Reminded him a little of Ian, actually. “Time from what, Mick? Talk to me. What’s happening?” Her words weren’t reproachful anymore, just resigned and confused as to why the distance between them was growing.

 

   Mickey felt guilty as hell. Lili had grown up with a small number of people in her life; barely any she could actually trust. She had let Mickey into that small circle. It was an honor, Mickey knew that as someone who had only a handful people he placed his faith in too. He knew how it hurt when someone betrayed that faith. He never wanted her to feel that way, Lili, who had been the first to bring home his coked up ass back when he had just entered Mexico, feeling as low as a human being possibly could. He owed her his current lifestyle. Maybe even his life, since he probably would have OD’d on the streets without her.

 

   He sighed lightly, texting Ian a quick, _Something came up. Meet @ Angelo Café in Guadalajara in 20._ His phone buzzed a moment later, and even though he didn’t check it, he was pretty sure it was Ian’s assent. “Okay, look,” He gestured to the couch, telling her to sit down as he did the same. She did as instructed, fixing a steady, unnerving gaze on him. There was no point in lying. It was time for Lili to know his entire fucked up history with Ian Gallagher. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. It’s just… some shit happened.” Lili nodded at him to continue. “After Enzo shot me, remember I told you guys I caught a ride? That was… this guy I used to be with. Back in the Southside. We’d been together since fucking high school or some shit.” He slipped a look at Lili, watching her face transform in surprise at him hiding such a big portion of his life. “We broke up right before I went to jail. He dumped my ass right before I got arrested. I found him when I broke out, and I really thought he was gonna come with me. But he left me at the border with my dick in my hand.” This time he didn’t look at Lili, but she laid a hand on his shoulder wordlessly, offering him absolution for keeping all of it from her. “That’s why I was all fucked up when you found me. Because he had left me. Again.” His eyes were growing wet, much to his horror. He looked up to the ceiling, hoping his eyes would reabsorb some of the traitorous moisture.

 

   “Anyway,” He cleared his throat of emotion, “He helped me that day. I was going to meet him now, too. I’m not that _angry_ anymore, after I got a chance to yell at him a bit the other day. I think I might give him another shot. I know it’ll probably end badly again… but I think I’ll always… you know? And I can’t let him go.” Lili grabbed his chin sharply, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You’re an asshole for not telling me. But I get it. You still love him,” Mickey winced; it was strange to hear it said so bluntly. “You love him, and you want to give it a chance. I support you. But take care of yourself, Mick. Don’t you fucking dare yourself short. You’re a prize, and if he hurts you, _I’ll_ hurt _him,_ ‘kay?” The look in her eyes was dead serious, and Mickey’s chest clenched. No one had ever been so unflinchingly on Mickey’s side before. Mandy’s affections were evenly divided between her brother and her best friend, probably leaning a little more towards Ian. The Gallaghers may have tolerated him, but they dropped him the moment Ian did. Ian had been his personal defense squad, but obviously not when he himself was the one hurting Mickey. No one had ever cared enough, except Ian. No one had ever told him he was worth something, except Ian.

 

   “Thanks, Lil,” He said, and if his voice was a little choked, who gave half a flying fuck? She didn’t try to hug him or something; she knew him better than that. But she pressed down on his shoulder with a firmer hand. He got up silently, grabbed his keys and left with a lighter heart.

 

//

 

   Angelo Café was a small place in a corner of the large city that was Guadalajara, run by an old couple from Spain. Mickey had stumbled upon it while he was still in his early sleeping-in-seedy-motels phase, or rather Mrs. Rosa had stumbled upon him. He had been freezing in the corner, high on something or another with nowhere to go. She had taken him in, fed him soup and offered him their back room for the night. If Mickey thought about it, the only reason he was still alive was because he had been lucky enough to run into charitable people everywhere. Or maybe he was just pathetic enough that he brought out philanthropic qualities in everyone. Now, he made it a point to visit the café every week or so, because he saw Rosa’s motherly pride at his clean clothes and fancy car. It was the only motherly affection _he_ had ever been on the receiving end of.

 

   When he reached the café, he exchanged smiles and greetings with Rosa and her husband, spotting a familiar redhead waiting at an empty table in a dark corner of the room and headed his way. “Hey,” He greeted quietly, watching as Ian snapped his gaze up from where he was looking at his phone. “Hey,” Ian smiled automatically, that brilliant sort of smile that had always made Mickey’s heart seize up. “Sorry I’m late. Lili kind of ambushed me,” He explained quickly, shedding his heavy jacket. “Lili…” Ian trailed off, thinking hard, “Mr. Phone Guy’s sister Lili?” Mickey snorted at the nickname, “Its Ramirez. And yes; his sister.” He picked up the menu in front of him and handed it to Ian; he already knew exactly what he wanted to order. “What was the ambush for?” Ian asked absentmindedly as his eyes scrolled through the menu. He looked up when Mickey answered, “You,” eyes questioning as to what Mickey meant. “She was wondering where I’d been recently. So I told her about you finally.”

 

   Ian’s eyebrows drew together at that. “She didn’t know about me?” Mickey shook his head, “Nah,” He sighed when he noticed Ian’s eyes were still expectant. People were expecting all sorts of exposition from him that day. “I wasn’t in a great place after I reached here, man. She found me on the streets, high off my ass. I dunno, guess I didn’t want to bring it all back by talkin’ ‘bout you.” Ian’s eyes flooded with guilt, “What d’you mean, you were high off your ass? You started taking drugs when you got here?” Mickey shrugged lightly, trying to play it off. Ian’s eyes remained demanding. “I’ll tell you about it someday, okay? Just not today.”

 

   Ian relented, and they ordered, talking about sweet nothings until their food arrived. Before Mickey could dig into his burrito in a bowl, he caught Ian looking at him with a shit-eating grin. “What? There something on my face?” He asked self consciously. Ian shook his head, still smiling like a Cheshire cat. “We’re sitting down. Wearing nice clothes. And eating. With utensils,” the words called back an age old memory to Mickey’s mind, the last good day before everything went to shit. “This our first date, Mick?” Ian asked, less cocky this time, more hopeful.

 

   A couple weeks, hell a couple of days ago, Mickey would have snapped at Ian and made a scene. Because back then his heart had still been heavy and dark with bitterness. Now he was healing, finally forgiving the beautiful boy in front of him. “Yeah, sure,” He returned Ian’s smile bashfully, “I owe you a date, Gallagher.” The word ‘owe’ reminded him of something he had forgotten, making him call out an urgent ‘fuck!’ as he rummaged through his pocket. He found the aforementioned object and placed it on the table. Ian eyed the white envelope in front of him in confusion.

 

   “Speaking of owing, this is the cash you lent me at the border. It’s all in there.” He gestured to the envelope with an inclination of his head. Ian’s eyebrows drew low over his eyes as he shook his head, “You don’t owe me anything, Mick. I didn’t _loan_ you the money. It’s yours. It was always yours.” Mickey knew Ian wasn’t just talking about the money now. He was talking about his heart, his love, too. “I gave it to you because I wanted you to be happy. Because I love you. You don’t owe me _anything.”_

Mickey stayed unmoving, and the white envelope sat between them, food forgotten. It was a stalemate, till Ian silently took the envelope and pushed it back towards Mickey. No words were exchanged until Mickey took the paper; put it back into his pocket.

 

   Then the conversation started back up as if that exchange had never happened. Ian told him about Carl’s colorful history, making Mickey crack up, eating all the tomatoes out of Ian’s salad because he knew, even years later, that Ian hated them. When they were done, Mickey paid the bill and out they went, going their separate ways. They didn’t try to stretch it; they didn’t even kiss. But as far as first dates went; it went pretty good.

 

//

 

   Both boys were smiling as they drove away, smiling like they hadn’t in a while. Mickey opened his door, ready to jump into bed and relive the memories over and over again. Instead, he was met with the sight of complete chaos.


	8. Never Let Me Go, Never Let Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian is a knight in shining armor. Well, a knight in a rumpled green shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of a filler, but it is the start of a few important plot lines of this story! chapter name from 'Let Me Love You' by Justin Bieber   
> Thanks for being patient with me xxx

   Mickey had seen a lot of blood in his life. It came with the territory; being part of the bloodiest, most violent family on the Southside. It had reached a point where he had almost grown immune to it; the sight of the red coppery liquid brought no feelings to the surface. He had seen people die bleeding; he had seen people live even after bleeding. But perhaps, walking into the house to see Ramirez bleeding through his shirt had changed that well developed resistance.

 

   “Holy fuck!” He cried out, bending beside his friend to elevate his head and press his shirt against the wound, clearly inflicted with a gun. “Ramirez!” He snapped, shaking him harshly, not concerned with being gentle until he opened his eyes. To his relief, Ramirez’s eyes fluttered open, like one of those creepy dolls with plastic eyelids. “Thank fuck,” Mickey muttered under his breath, right before he heard a gun being loaded somewhere close by. He stood up slowly, reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans, realizing a moment too late that he had gotten rid of it for the ‘date’. _Fuck,_ he muttered under his breath, as he felt the cool barrel of the gun press against his neck. When it dropped near immediately, he turned around in surprise, only to meet Lili’s scared eyes. “Mick,” She sobbed, dropping the gun almost immediately, “Thank god. I do- don’t know what to do. They just came in and _shot him,_ and Sanchez isn’t here and _oh my god.”_

She was clearly hyperventilating, so Mickey spared one of the (few) precious moments they had to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Calm down. I’m going to fix this, okay?” He didn’t wait for her response, prompting her forward to continue to press his shirt over the wound. His mind was spinning. It wasn’t as easy as calling 911 and getting help. They weren’t some suburban family who had been randomly attacked by a robber or something. Mickey knew, without even asking, that it had probably been a deal gone wrong. The house was filled to the brim with drugs and drug money. A call to the police would end with them getting _arrested,_ not them getting help. It was the same situation Mickey had found himself in the other day. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to wish it hadn’t happened because it had led to him meeting Ian-

 

   “Ian,” He muttered quietly, mind landing on a situation that could fix everything. Ian was an EMT; he could probably provide the medical care they needed to make sure Ramirez would be okay. HE hesitated for a moment; not sure he wanted to bring Ian into this part of his life. If he had had one moment longer to think, he might have changed his mind and thought of an alternate solution. But his mind was to full with worry for Ramirez to linger on anything else. “Keep pressure on the wound,” he instructed Lili sharply, “I’m gonna see if I can get help.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket, clicking on Ian’s contact hastily. He waited as the phone rang once, twice, feet tapping impatiently.

 

   Ian picked up with a cheerful, “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” At any other time, Mickey would have cracked a smile, but he was too preoccupied. “Gallagher, I need your help,” He spoke quickly, trying not to sound too harsh. “What’s wrong?” Ian’s tone shifted immediately. Growing up in the Southside, help didn’t mean moving boxes or babysitting. Help meant everything had gone to shit and something was really, really wrong. “Ramirez, he got shot,” Mickey explained quickly, “We can’t take him to hospital cause… ya know.” Mickey didn’t have to explain further, Ian knew why he was calling. “Text me the address. I’m leaving now.” Their conversation ended there, and Mickey thought that he had never loved Ian Gallagher more.

 

   “Ian’s on his way,” he informed Lili, fingers busy at his phone’s keyboard, texting Ian the address of the house.  “Ian?” She looked confused, through the shadow of stress over her face. “He’s an EMT,” He looked down as he got a text back from Ian sating he was fifteen minutes away. Mickey informed Lili of the same, all the time resisting the urge to text Ian saying _keep your eyes on the road_ knowing it would only pull his attention away again. Now, they would wait. Fifteen minutes felt like nothing when you had something to do. You could barely finish a round of Call of Duty in that much time. But fifteen minutes felt like centuries when Mickey was watching Ramirez bleed before his eyes, with him unable to do anything to help. His knee bobbed up and down erratically beyond his control, anxiety moving it instead of his own conscious thought.

 

    A century, or perhaps twenty minutes later, their front door was knocked on roughly. Mickey shot up and opened it, muttering a quiet _finally_ when he saw Ian waiting there. “Here; he’s in here,” Mickey said, leading Ian into the living room, where Ramirez’s now scarily silent body lay. Ian was all business, and Mickey could practically _see_ him wearing an EMT uniform, even though he was still in the (now rumpled) green shirt he had worn to the ‘date’. He spared Mickey just one glance and a quick, “Are you okay?” Once Mickey nodded, Ian could be any other suit he had seen in his long life of seeing EMT’s after EMT’s come to their street, often too late. “When did this happen?” He asked Lili, hands moving busily. “Um, a couple hours ago. Right after Milo… Mickey left. I’d say around five thirty?” Ian nodded tersely, and Mickey couldn’t help the guilt that flowed through him. Now he had nothing to do but wait, remorseful thoughts were rushing through his head. If he had been there, maybe he could’ve prevented this in some way. While Ramirez had needed him, he had been on a fucking _date._

 

   A couple minutes of silent working and tense breathing later, Ian straightened. Now that Ramirez’s body was in Mickey’s view, he could see the thick bandage around his middle. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought. It was just a surface wound, as far as I can tell. The bullet grazed him pretty deeply, but I’m guessing the actual bullet is somewhere over there,” Ian said, gesturing to the wall to his left. The key words _surface wound_ and _grazed_ immediately put Mickey at ease, and he could hear Lili let out an audible sigh of relief. “Fucking drama queen,” she gasped out, shoving Ramirez lightly though her voice was wet. “Tell me about it,” Mickey smirked, moving to place a comforting arm around Lili, “I had a bullet through my shoulder a couple days ago and I didn’t pass out.” The two shared a quick laugh, trying to cover up the worry they had felt. Ian stayed silent, giving them time.

 

    A minute later, Mickey finally looked up at Ian. “Thanks, man,” he offered him a small smile, which the younger man warmly returned, “False alarm, but thanks for coming.” Ian took one tentative step closer, “I’ll always come when you need me to, Mick.” Mick snorted despite the tense situation. “Gallagher, you can’t just _walk_ into jokes like that, man,” eliciting a chuckle from Ian. Lili cleared her throat, loudly, right next to Mickey’s ear. “Oh yeah,” Mickey said, having skipped the formalities in typical Milkovich fashion. “Lili, this is Ian. Ian, this is Lili.” He watched slightly nervously as two of the most important people in his life surveyed each other. She took in Ian’s fiery hair, his tall stature, his wide smile. He took in her almond shaped eyes, dark hair, colorful streaks. “Hi, Lili. It’s nice to meet you,” Ian said with a bashful smile that Mickey thought was pretty fucking cute. Never one for flattery, and forever the image of Mandy, she simply said, “If you hurt him again, you won’t be smiling anymore. You break his heart, and I’ll break your face, got it?” Mickey groaned, and Ian just raised his arms in surrender. “I won’t, trust me. Never again.” Seemingly satisfied, Lili’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. Now help me get this idiot upstairs,” she gestured to her still motionless brother on the ground.

 

   Lili and Ian picked Ramirez up, shaking off Mickey when he tried to help. Feeling useless, he stayed downstairs, picking up the bloodstained carpet to toss out with the trash the next morning. He could hear the two laughing lightly on the stairs, Ian no doubt charming her like he seemed to do everybody, but Mickey’s mind was too busy wondering what the fuck had happened. Now that the panic and adrenaline had settled, he was left contemplating who exactly had the balls to come into the Sanchez HQ and try to shoot one of his operatives. It could have been the Ramero clan; they had been get gutsier after Sanchez had let them off despite a late payment. Yet somehow, Mickey’s mind was just chanting _Enzo Enzo Enzo Enzo._ He had no justification he could offer up for his suspicions. Enzo had crossed a boundary the other day, but it hadn’t seemed like he had anything against the gang in general. It had seemed personal, but why the fuck would Enzo bring that into business? Sanchez and Enzo went way back when it came to the exchange of drugs and money. It was steady. Mickey may have been the object of Enzo’s fixation for five seconds, but that didn’t warrant an attack like this one.

 

   “Don’t think so hard, Mick, you’ll hurt yourself,” He vaguely registered Ian joking. He looked up, refocusing on the current situation. “Fuck off,” he snapped with no heat, cracking a reluctant smile for a quarter of a second, returning again to business mode the moment Lili came into view, “Lil, who did this? Did you see them?” She shook her head fervently. “No clue. What’re you thinking? I thought it could be the Russians, or maybe the Rameros, but I keep thinking…” She trailed off, but Mickey caught what she was saying. “I know. Me too. But why the fuck would Enzo do this?” He wondered again, aloud this time. “He shot you the other day,” She said, making Ian turn to him sharply, looking worried even though he was there that day and knew Mickey was fine. “Why’d he do that? Did it have anything to do with Sanchez?” He shook his head. He hadn’t wanted to explain the situation to the Lili and Ramirez, and hadn’t felt the need to. He was reluctant now, too, what with the awkward situation. “He kissed me,” he admitted, cheeks burning. That caught Ian’s attention as much as the gunshot wound had, and Mickey wanted to roll his eyes at his priorities. “He _what_?” Lili asked incredulously. “Are… are you okay? Why didn’t you tell us?” “Didn’t think it was important,” Mickey said, with a little shrug. “Of course it was important, Mick,” Ian said, sliding closer to him. “Are you okay?” Lili asked, “I know you don’t…” Mickey cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. Lili didn’t know everything that happened to him in prison, but she had a fair idea. Ian, who had no idea, looked at him questioningly.

 

    Mickey knew the conversation would have to happen someday, but that was not the day he wanted to have it. He wanted the quiet, the strange peace that had fallen over the house. And so Ian dropped it. Mickey was thankful.

 

//

 

   On the other hand, Ian’s mind was whirring. Lili had seemed worried, Mickey cautious. He couldn’t stop wondering; what the fuck had happened to Mickey? But he could see the trapped, deer-in-the-headlights expression on Mickey’s face. So he let it go, tucking it away for later, along with the trillion and one conversations that were still awaiting them.


	9. I Won't Sleep Till You're Safe Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii guys!
> 
> Warning: this is not a happy chapter. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY MENTIONS OF RAPE. There is no graphic description, but it's in there. 
> 
> Also, for the sake of this fic, let's pretend that Ian and Mickey did not have sex while on their rendezvous in 7x10 and 7x11 (I know, I know, I loved those scenes too, but can we just pretend they just fluffily made out for the sake of the plot pleaseee)
> 
> Chapter title taken from safe inside, by James Arthur
> 
> thanks for your reads, kudos and comments as usual. you guys mean the world x

    When Ramirez came to, Ian went upstairs to check on him. His mind was still thrumming, even as he checked the drowsy man’s vitals. All he could think about was Lili’s horror at hearing Mickey had been kissed without his permission. Ian didn’t like it, but an unwarranted kiss didn’t usually attract such worry. Unwanted attention was not the most pleasant thing, but it was not unusual when it came to someone as beautiful as Mickey. He remembered a night at the club, before his breakdown, before everything had gone to shit, when a drunken dancer had kissed Mickey suddenly. Ian may have lost it slightly; he wasn’t usually an angry person, but he was admittedly protective when it came to his boyfriend. (That was before Ian had hurt him the most, thus vetoing all that protectiveness, but that was guilt to be felt another time). Ian had punched the stranger right in the nose, and even though Mickey had been kind of dazed, he had laughed his ass off all the way home at Ian’s jealousy.

 

   “Who the fuck are you?” he heard a voice from right below him, looking down to see Ramirez peering up at him cautiously. Ian had a small smile on his face from the good memory, so he probably looked exactly like the kind of crazy person the general population liked to avoid. “Welcome back. I’m Ian,” he responded, realising a moment too late that Ramirez had no clue who ‘Ian’ was. “I’m, uh, Mickey’s friend. I’m an EMT, so he called me after you got shot. Are you feeling okay?” he asked, helping Ramirez sit up gingerly. “Sore as fuck, man,” the other man responded, “What happened?” Ian handed him a glass full of water, responding, “They aren’t sure who did it. Bullet just grazed you, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll get Mickey and Lili.”

 

   At Ramirez’s nod, he padded downstairs to call the other two to see him. He couldn’t help the fond smile that grew onto his face when he saw Mick and Lili sleeping on couch. Mickey had his head thrown back slightly, resting against the back of the sofa with his mouth a little open. He looked peaceful while sleeping, as he always had, like he didn’t have to fight the world for once. Lili had her leg thrown over his, resting her head on the armrest. He went over quietly and shook Mickey lightly. The other boy startled, waking up with raised fists and a sharp gasp. For a millisecond, there was pure terror in Mickey’s eyes. Maybe Ian was just reading into everything now; but what the fuck had happened to Mickey that made him wake up like he had been electrocuted every morning. A younger Mickey used to wake up like that every time; but a few months of sleeping with Ian had calmed those instincts. What had called them back to the surface again? Was it just prison instincts, or something else?

 

   “Hey,” Ian tried to calm Mickey with a small smile, “Ramirez is awake.” Mickey let out an audible sigh of relief, though Ian could hear that he was still slightly out of breath because of the jump scare. He in turn shook Lili awake, who thankfully awoke drowsily like a normal person. “Douchebag is awake,” Mickey informed her, in a sleep heavy voice. Instantly, Lili’s brilliant smile cut through the tiredness on her face. The pair hopped up and headed upstairs, Mickey staying back a moment to tell Ian, “Thanks. Really.” Ian nodded and smiled lightly, lingering back to allow the group their time. He knew it probably wasn’t the safest crowd for Mickey to be amongst, seeing as Ian had seen two gun wounds in the few weeks since he had found Mickey again, but it made him happy to see Mickey loved and accepted. The Milkovich boy had never gotten as much love as he deserved; and had got fucked over by the people _he_ loved, namely Ian. Ian didn’t feel jealous, or left out, just incredibly happy that Mickey wasn’t alone. It was clear to him that Mickey had had difficult times, something that made him feel like someone had taken an apple corer to his heart, but at least he had found a home.

 

///

 

   Cue two weeks later, and Mickey and Ian were in a really great place. They met nearly every day, falling back into that easy familiarity they had always shared. It was easy, incredibly easy, to be around Ian again. He still made Mickey feel _safe,_ a sensation he rarely allowed himself the luxury of feeling. He hadn’t had any more panic attacks, and there had been no more assaults. Sanchez was furious; working on finding out who had attacked his stronghold, but relative peace had fallen over Mickey’s life and those around him. There was a steady routine; they would carry out small runs (nothing too serious until they figured out who they couldn’t trust anymore), Ian and him would meet at the spot or some obscure cafe in the city; Mickey talking about business without letting on too much (he didn’t want Ian to become related to his work in any way), and Ian talking about his day spent saving lives. Lili and Ramirez were slowly falling for Ian’s charm in a way Mickey could recognise all too well. Ramirez was convinced Ian was his guardian angel or some shit, and Lili was getting over her original wariness of the infamous Mickey’s-heart-breaker. It was completely ordinary. It was safe and warm and Mickey loved it.

 

   Of course that had to be disrupted.

 

   After two weeks, Mickey decided to move things along a little. Ramirez, Lili and Sanchez were gone for a weekend to the Mendez home. The Mendez’s were well known for being nationalists; and any non-Latino gang member was strictly not welcome. So obviously Mickey’s pasty white ass was left behind. He didn’t mind. Believe it or not, he _didn’t_ like the judgemental looks the gang members sent them, or the suggestion of a Romeo-and-Juliet style romance Mendez’s youngest daughter kept aiming towards him. Plus, some alone time with Ian was definitely not a negative. It seemed the siblings were determined to sit in on any conversation the two boys had. Ian showed up at seven, bottle of Jack Daniels and crappy action movie in hand. It was their version of chocolate and flowers, and Mickey couldn’t help the funny feeling in his stomach.

 

   Dinner was pizza rolls and _fuck_ if it wasn’t a walk down memory lane. He could practically see the echoes of the Milkovich house around him. Not usually the most pleasant place to remember, but that day it had been a haven to the boys; until everything had gone to shit.

 

   When the movie credits rolled across the screen, Ian had looked at Mickey. _Looked_ at him; pupils blown wide and lips slightly open in anticipation. His eyes were asking Mickey a question; could he kiss him? Mickey reminded himself that this was _Ian_ and he _loved_ him, before moving a little forward till he was nearly on Ian’s lap, before pressing their lips together. Their first kiss; first in three fucking years. It was so different, yet the same. _They_ were different, gentler with each other, but that fire and passion was still there. The world around him slowed and faded, as Mickey surrendered himself to that kiss. It was good, it was great, until Ian hands moved a little lower and massaged the light dimple in Mickey’s hip, right above his thigh. Mickey pulled back with a wrench, breathing becoming erratic and mind moving out of the moment to a much worse one.

 

   Ian sensed Mickey’s panic; immediately pulling back and speaking soothingly: “Mickey, it’s okay. It’s me; it’s Ian. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Mickey clung to those words, and it helped calm him somewhat, till he collapsed bonelessly onto Ian. He had to explain, had to tell Ian everything, even as Ian insisted he didn’t have to. He _needed_ to. He had never told the full story before; not to anyone except-

 

   “Mandy,” was the first word he gasped out, making Ian look at him quizzically, “Mandy came to see me after you... visited.” Ian cringed, and Mickey remembered how much it had hurt him to hear that Ian had been _paid_ to visit him. But he calmed down that pain; he had much worse demons than Ian in his life and he had found forgiveness in the last couple of weeks. Sure, Ian had hurt him, but Mickey couldn’t bring himself to be without him, so why waste time hurting over what had already been made up for?

 

   “She told me she had been working as a fucking _escort_ or some shit, and that one of her ‘customers’ had turned out to be some high profile lawyer. She talked to him about my case and he said he was pretty sure he could get me lower charges, don’t know how many times she had to sleep with that fossil for that. But she did it. He did it. They took to court and a month later, I had an updated charge sheet and just six months more in prison for assault.”

 

   Ian looked incredibly confused. “But, Mick, you broke out of jail. If you had six fucking months, why’d you do that? You wouldn’t... we could’ve...” Mickey knew what Ian was thinking. If he had just stayed for six months, who knows where they would’ve been? They could’ve been playing happy family three years ago.

 

   “I tried, Ian, I swear. But...” he swallowed dryly, not sure if he was ready to admit it allowed, “A month later, Terry got transferred into my block.” He heard Ian suck in a sharp breath, but just screwed his eyes shut. “I guess- I guess he figured that if he couldn’t get me to stop being a faggot, he might as well profit from it. A Milkovich can make a scam out of anything, ya know?” Here, he let out a sharp humourless laugh. “I... I don’t remember everything. But I know I became Terry’s most profitable asset in the tank. Pay him off and you get a night with his son, no questions asked. They had to drug me up most of the time, ‘cause Terry promised they could do what they wanted and I wouldn’t just lie down and take it, you know?”

 

   Mickey’s eyes were wet, and he risked a look at Ian now. Ian looked heartbroken, and there were a few stray tears running down his face. “Mickey, _no,_ ” He moaned lightly, clasping Mickey’s hands cautiously and kissing them over and over when he was met with no resistance. “I couldn’t do it, Ian. I know I could’ve stuck it out; it was just a couple of months. But I used to wake up and I could barely walk. Terry paid off a guard to leave my cell open at night, and by the end of it, he was using me to get smokes. Fucking _smokes,_ ” a small, sobbing gasp escaped Ian’s mouth, and he strokes Mickey’s hair, trying to erase it all; erase the memories. If only he really could.

 

   “I’m sorry,” Mickey whispered, “I’m sorry I’m fucked up, but I’m not ready, okay?” He sounded defensive even as Ian nodded and nodded and said _it doesn’t matter_ and _it’s okay._ “I’ve fucked guys since I came here, but I’m not ready to take it yet. I’m sorry.” Ian kissed Mickey’s cheek, “Don’t do that. Don’t you fucking dare apologise. It wasn’t your fault, okay? None of it was your fault. I’m not going to let you go, Mick. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”

 

   Mickey clambered into Ian’s lap, wrapping his arms around him and burrowing into the warmth of Ian’s arms around him in return. “I love you, Mick, I love you so much. I’ll never let them touch you again. Never.”

 

  And in the warmth of Ian’s words, and Ian’s arms, Mickey fell asleep.

 

///

 

   The other boy didn’t fall asleep that night. He lay awake, mind filled with images of Mickey being touched against his will, hurting, _screaming_ and he wanted to rip his own hair out. After crying silently into his sleeve and telling himself that breaking everything in the fucking house was not a good idea, he promised himself that he would _ruin_ Terry for what he had done to Mickey if it was the last thing he did.


	10. We Are Bound To Each Other's Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nostalgia and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy guys! So I was supposed to be studying for my exams and this happened :)  
> so here's a fluffy filler because I think I'm a lil to angsty xD  
> chapter title from Wildfire by Seafret  
> thanks for reading x

   Ian lived in a government compound, surrounded by officials and suits and going there as an escaped convict now part of a drug cartel was probably a really terrible idea. The worst Mickey Milkovich had probably ever had.

 

   He did it anyway.

 

   Ian told Mickey that it was fine, that Mickey didn’t have to risk his safety for a fucking date, but Mickey was eager to appease Ian even when it wasn’t necessary. He felt inexplicably guilty about his refusing Ian’s touch the other day, though he had told him over and over that he didn’t care. He felt like he had to make up for that inability somehow, like he had to make sure to give things up the way Ian was for him. Somewhere underneath it all was that insecurity that Ian would leave again, that he would be alone again. He would give all of himself to prevent that from happening. And Ian promised himself that _he_ would give all of himself to make Mickey trust that he would never do that again.

 

   Around nine ‘o’ clock, Ian front bell rang, and a shifty looking Mickey Milkovich, looking left and right like fucking scenting dogs and the entire cavalry were after him. Ian _was_ remorseful that Mickey felt uncomfortable, but he also happened to look really _cute_ in the moment and Ian decided to leave it be. “Hey,” He smiled lightly, leaning towards Mickey in a way his body automatically did, giving the other boy space to consider what he was comfortable with. A heartbeat later, Mickey rose slightly onto his toes (God, Ian loved their height difference) and pressed their lips together.

 

   It wasn’t super passionate or smouldering. It was more of a greeting, in that cute 70’s domestic way that Ian couldn’t bring himself to regret. Mickey pulled back after a moment, blue eyes slightly defiant, like _see, fuck you, I’m not made of glass._ Ian just grinned wider and beckoned him inside. He felt a little nervous as Mickey’s eyes gave his house an once-over. It was fucking stupid of him to be nervous; they had fallen in love in the Southside, after all, but he wanted Mickey to see where he was now. He wanted Mickey to feel at home in his home. He wanted Mickey to be proud of him. “Nice place, Gallagher,” he finally commented, and Ian grinned wider. Only then did he notice that Mickey had a brown paper bag in his hand. A six-pack of beer, weak stuff, which Ian knew Mickey had bought so Ian could drink more than one without getting completely hammered. Mickey remembered the early days of the disease; where getting drunk off of a single beer made Ian feel like more of an invalid than sleeping in and mood swings ever did. Being Southside meant having some kind of substance in your blood at all times; the high keeping you afloat through the depressing situation. The loss of that had caused a bit of an existential crisis in Ian. So Mickey had taken to buying less potent stuff, just so Ian could get through more than one beer like any other Southie, even if it meant Mickey would end up with just a little buzz most nights.

 

      Ian took the bag, placing the six pack in the fridge, but not before he stole two for the both of them. Then he proudly produced the newest Triple X movie, yet another shitty action movie to add to their repertoire. It seemed they couldn’t go through nights at home without crappy movies that had too many boobs and too less action, in Mickey’s opinion. “Oh c’mon Mick,” Ian said, guessing Mickey’s thoughts, “I hear there’s a couple good action scenes in this one. And a hot guy. Not a red head though.” Ian was grinning; he loved to tease Mickey about his... let’s say specific taste in men. Mickey muttered a _fuck off_ and held up a predictable finger in his direction. “You planning on starving me, or you got some food in this shithole?” He snapped with no heat. Ian rolled his eyes at the attitude, and his mind raced back to the way Mickey had once visited the Kash ‘n’ Grab with the lamest pickup line Ian had ever heard: _You got any Slim-Jims in this shithole?_

 

   He smiled at the memory as he went to retrieve the Chinese takeout he had ordered earlier from the kitchen. He and Mickey had made so many memories over the years; they had a constant presence in Ian’s mind, as did the blue eyed man himself. He could barely look at anything without forming a connection to Mickey and their relationship. High school bleachers? Those golden times in the dugouts. Barbeque pringles? Mickey’s favourite thing. Hawaiian prints? That one stupid, tacky shirt Mickey made look good.

 

   He handed Mickey his food; noodles with Kung-pao chicken, _no_ spring onions. Again, he was struck with a strange bout of nervousness; he had assumed Mickey’s tastes would stay the same after the many years since they had _actually_ been at that level where they could order for each other. But he relaxed the moment Mickey offered him a wide grin and the words, “Thanks man. You remember.” It wasn’t a question; but a statement that said much more than its four words could literally convey. It meant _you remembered, I was there in your mind even when I wasn’t in your life and that says more than words could._ Ian sat back onto the lumpy mass he called a couch with his orange chicken, something Mickey had always hated ( _“It’s fucking sweet, man, what the fuck? Sweet shit means fucking dessert!”_ ). Right before the movie started, Mickey turned towards Ian to say, “By the way, Lili wanted me to tell you Ramirez is doing better. They want you over for lunch or some shit on the Fourth of July. Told them we should do a barbeque. Figured you’d like that. Just like home, right?” Ian smiled. He had been sad to miss the traditional Gallagher barbeque on the fourth, but as he looked at Mickey look at him, he had no regrets. Sure, the Southside was where he had grown up, where his family still lived. It had been tough leaving all that behind and moving to Mexico. But he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry for it; especially when Mickey was right there and his eyes looked so _fucking blue_ in the flickering light of his ancient TV and so Ian slipped his hand into Mickey’s lightly and said, “Yeah. Home.”

 

//

 

   Approximately twenty minutes into the (admittedly terrible) movie, and smack in the middle of a cringey-as-fuck scene with bikinis and boobs and all those other things the boys had no interest in, the power went out. “Thank fuck,” Mickey breathed in relief, making Ian chuckle lightly. “It wasn’t _that_ bad, Mick,” he pacified, even though it really had been. “Stay on the couch,” he instructed, “I’ll get us candles or some shit. You’d be surprised how often this happens, considering its government property.” Mickey did as he was told, calling out behind Ian, “They better not be pine scented or some shit, Gallagher!” Ian just grinned, though Mickey couldn’t see him, because of course his candles were fucking pine scented. Back in the good old days of scraping by and Milkovich deviance (though those weren’t over yet, apparently), Ian and Mickey stole Fiona some sheets from a home furnishing store after Carl lit hers on fire. Only when they had gotten three blocks away did Ian show Mickey the single pine candle had pilfered on a whim. Mickey teased him about it relentlessly, saying scented candles were for rich assholes that had more money than they knew what to do with. Ian had just ignored all Mickey’s snipes and said, “Mick, one day, our house is gonna be full of fucking pine candles.” Mickey had told him to fuck off, but under the shit-eating grin was satisfaction at that one word: _our. Our_ meant a future for them, _our_ meant they would build a life together, _our_ meant they would be together for a long, long time.

 

//

 

   Now, as Ian lit up the candles, one by one illuminating their faces, Mickey grinned as soon as the strong scent his nose. Because he remembered, the same way Ian did. Pine candles meant a future for them, pine candles meant they would build a life together, pine candles meant they would be together for a long, long time.

 


	11. All of Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an unnerving interaction, and some confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii friends!  
> hope you like this one, and sorry I haven't updated in a while x  
> chapter title from the song of the same name, by John Legend  
> TW: some (extremely vague) discussion of suicide in the end.

    Two weeks of relative peace, and Mickey had become careless. He had become secure in the safety he had found, being around Ian again. He had lost himself in their quiet domesticity. The time was slow for the gang, and Mickey had made just two runs at most during the entirety of the two weeks. He had forgotten that he wasn’t just some ordinary Mexican citizen with a boyfriend and friend group and father figure. He was a _fugitive_ gang member with a boyfriend (?) and fellow gang members as friends and his ‘father figure’ was one of the most dangerous men in Mexico. Just because Sanchez didn’t have _his_ guns pointed at Mickey didn’t mean their fellow gang members didn’t. Or their customers. Or maybe just one.

 

   Mickey was walking to Gallagher’s from the nearby strip mall, having purchased a couple new textbooks for his GED. A small grin creeped onto his face as he remembered the look on Ian’s face when he had revealed he was getting his GED. He had looked like a kid on Christmas morning; and not a kid on the fucking Southside. The kind of kid who had a pile of presents under his sky-high tree. _“I’m so proud of you, Mick,”_ Ian had said, and even though Mickey had told him to fuck off, his heart had warmed. Since they were teenagers, Mickey had the distinct feeling that Ian deserved better than him, especially after Ian had once confided that Lip had told him that the best part about falling for Mickey was that he could always find someone better. Ian had grinned, meaning it as a joke, but it had stuck around in Mickey’s mind. Because wasn’t that the truth? That a Milkovich was as low as you could go; even if you were a fuckin’ Gallagher with an alcoholic father and a billion siblings? It felt good to make Ian proud; like he finally deserved some part of the beautiful boy he was in love with. True, Ian had never made Mickey feel that way. He had told Mickey he was proud of him when he came out. He had told Mickey he was proud when the Rub ‘n’ Tug made a few extra bucks that he gave to Svetlana to buy a couple clothes for the kid. Ian had been proud of him, even when he was just Southside trash in the eyes of everyone else around. No wonder he had never, would never, feel the same way about anyone else. Anyone could love who Ian was now; the stable EMT with a government funded apartment. A lot of people would probably be into the rich, mysterious, brooding gangster Mickey had turned into. But how many would love the lanky ginger who lay in bed for days because he wouldn’t take his pills? Who would love the dirty thug with a homophobic father who hated everything he was?

 

   Standing by someone at their worst, _choosing_ them despite their flaws was what real love was. And that was what the two boys from the Southside had inexplicably found.

 

   He had been walking slowly, leisurely, distracted by his thoughts. That wasn’t how people who worked for drug lords walk. That wasn’t how _Mickey_ was supposed to walk. He should’ve kept his eyes open, alert of his surroundings; on defence mode even though no visible threat could be perceived. But a Mickey Milkovich in love was a stupid Mickey Milkovich. He had seen more than enough examples of that in his life.

 

   He should have been paying attention. Maybe then he would have sensed the person behind him before they pressed the barrel of a gun against the back of his neck.

 

   “The fuck?” Mickey managed to choke out, before his throat dried up completely. As the person behind him remained unmoving, Enzo emerged from the shadows in the alley beyond like they were in some goddamned mobster flick. “Enzo?” Mickey snapped in disbelief, “What the _fuck_ is this?” Enzo looked... bashful? Like some shy teenager waiting outside his prom date’s door. “Mikhailo,” Enzo said, silkily. Mickey shuddered lightly, hearing his name on this _snake’s_ tongue. “I wanted to see you again. I went to your house, but you weren’t there.” Mickey’s mind was connecting all the scattered pieces, Ramirez getting shot in the Sanchez house and what Enzo was saying now.

 

   “You came into Sanchez’s house?! You shot at his fucking gang?! Are you fucking _insane?_ ” His concern for Enzo’s mental health was genuine; no one in their right mind would trespass on Sanchez property. “I needed to see you again,” Enzo said, shrugging, and it seemed like such a cruel parody of what Ian had once told him that he felt sick. “I don’t give shit. Sanchez is going to hear about this.” Again, Enzo just shrugged. His nonchalance made Mickey want to teach him a lesson the old fashioned way; a fist to his smirking face. “I was careful. You have no proof.” It dawned upon Mickey that they were in an isolated alley, and Mickey was all alone. Despite Enzo’s confession, he didn’t have anything substantial to stand for it. “How did you even find me?” Mickey asked finally, giving up on the threats. “I have my ways,” Enzo answered mysteriously, “So, Mikhailo? Dinner?”

 

   Mickey scoffed. “You _are_ fucking insane,” he muttered, no longer scared since the gun pressed against him had been lowered and Enzo’s hired muscle had moved to his side. “Don’t try this again. You’ll regret it.” With that, he walked away confidently. Enzo didn’t try shooting at him or anything, which was a plus. But the whole interaction had left him unnerved. Especially when Enzo had called after him, “You _will_ be mine, Mikhailo!” His heart throbbed with fear as he rushed to a busier road and called for an uber, plans with Ian completely forgotten. As he waited, he looked at his phone a moment too long and he wondered whether Enzo had put a tracking chip in his phone or some shit, seeing as he had found Mickey in the middle of nowhere. Possessed by thought, and completely paranoid, Mickey dropped his phone and crushed it with his shoes. Then the car came, and Mickey directed him as close to the Sanchez stronghold as was safe, determined to expose Enzo to his gang members.

 

//

 

   Sanchez hadn’t liked it. He hadn’t like it at all. “ _Enzo?”_ he had snapped, _“That fucking addict broke into_ my _house and threatened_ my _operation. He’s dead; he’s fucking dead.”_  And then he ripped open the door and stalked out of the house altogether.

 

   Needless to say, the atmosphere in the house was tense when someone rapped on the front door urgently. It was Ian. As soon as Mickey saw him, and his worried expression, he felt guilty at leaving Ian hanging. “Mick,” Ian breathed when he saw him, “Thank fuck.” The relief in Ian’s voice brought back the current situation and Mickey searched the surroundings of their house quickly before pulling Ian into the house, and Mickey’s room. “What are you doing here?” Mickey asked, harsher than he meant to. “What do you mean?” Ian blinked up at him, confused. “You were supposed to come to my place. I was worried.” “Worried?” Mickey chuckled, trying to brush it off, “Surely you’ve been stood up at some point, Gallagher?” Ian’s carefully maintained composure now cracked. “Yes, Mick, I’ve been fucking stood up. But the guys who stood me up weren’t working for a fucking drug lord, getting shot every five seconds! Excuse for being worried that you suddenly dropped off the face of the earth and your phone was switched off! Jesus, Mick!” Mickey flinched at Ian’s raised voice, at his obvious distress. He placed a calming hand on his arm.

 

   “I’m sorry, okay?” He spoke quietly, soothingly, making Ian relax somewhat. “Everything’s just really messed up right now.” “What’s wrong?” Ian looked up at him, completely pacified. “You don’t need t’a know that shit, Gallagher. You shouldn’t get involved with this side of my life.” Ian’s eyes flashed with anger yet again. “I’m not made of glass, Mick. I can’t have pieces of you. I want all of you. Good parts, bad parts, all of it.” Mickey rolled his eyes and muttered _sap_ under his breath even as his heart warmed. “I ran into Enzo again. The guy whose men shot me at the club,” Ian’s breath caught slightly, shoulders tensing. Mickey could feel it from where his hands rested on his arm. “He told me he was the one who shot Ramirez too.”

 

   “Fuck, I’m sorry Mick. That’s messed up.” His eyes looked into Mickey’s urgently, catching onto something he saw there. “There’s something else.” It was a statement, not a question. “It’s nothing,” Mickey attempted to be nonchalant; “He just... said he came here to see _me._ Asked me to dinner. Said he’s gonna make me _his_.” Mickey shuddered lightly and Ian looked like he was going to be sick. “Jesus, Mick. What the fuck does he want with you?” Mickey shrugged weakly. “I figure it’s just some kind of sick infatuation. Probably wants me to be his sidepiece or some shit.”

 

   “I won’t let him touch you, Mick,” Ian promised. Mickey shook his head vehemently. “Stay the fuck away from him, Ian. Stay away from this part of my life. These aren’t people I want you to be around.” Ian saw something in Mickey’s eyes; something desperate and dark and worried, and decided to drop it till another day.

 

//

 

   The boys curled up together subconsciously when they went to sleep. It was safe, familiar. Mickey _needed_ that, after how weird the day had been. In that strange time, strung between sleep and being awake, Ian made a confession. “I thought about killing myself once.” Mickey jerked awake, turning to face the other boy. “ _What?_ ” he said in a voice that was wide awake. Ian sighed, wishing he hadn’t started the conversation. “Ian, tell me,” Mickey prompted. “It was a while after you went in. I was working as a janitor or something, and I felt so _lost._ Like I had no purpose. I went to a bridge,” Mickey swallowed convulsively, Ian could see his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But there was an explosion. A woman got injured right in front of me. I tried to help her, and that’s when it started; the whole EMT thing.” Ian met Mickey’s eyes, “All I’m saying is; we’ve all got parts of us we don’t like, Mick. But I can’t keep my disease from you, even though it could hurt you. So you can’t hide this part of you, even if you’re just trying to keep me safe. Okay?”

 

 //

 

  Mickey didn’t say anything. But he nodded. Then he turned over like he always had, and Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey’s middle; breathing him in, like he always had. Ian heard a small voice, just before he went to sleep.

 

   _“I love you so fucking much.”_


	12. I Come to You in Pieces, So You Can Make Me Whole.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a birthday and steps forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii friends!  
> whoop it's a long one!  
> TW: panic attacks, dicussion of rape  
> this chapter is pretty fluffy so I hope you enjoy! Also, I hope you guys don't mind that I have more character exploration that actual plot in my chapter xD It's coming, my friends, I swear!  
> chapter title from song Red by Rob Graves  
> thank you for reading x

   There was a stupid-ass saying that you had to find the silver lining of every cloud. Mickey didn’t quite see it that way. He preferred his cynical, sardonic stance on things (and he could never spot any literal silver linings on clouds too, not that he looked too hard). Ian was the opposite of that. He looked to the bright side most of the time finding light where he could unless his disease hampered that ability temporarily. The two boys almost seemed to represent the two main ways it could go if you were born in the Southside. Either (more likely) you ended up like Mickey; fucked up, aggressive, and stuck in the life of a criminal. The situation and its hopelessness dragged you down till the light at the end of the tunnel was difficult to focus on. _Or_ (rarely) one could end up like Ian. Where looking beyond was the only way you could keep yourself afloat. Where you made it _out._

 

   Ian was that person, that mythical creature from the Southside, who not only retained his hope but also his future. So Mickey thought it was perfectly justified that he didn’t want to be the catalyst that fucked up Ian’s relatively settled lifestyle. He remembered the early days after Ian’s diagnosis, when they visited the doctor and she told them, “ _Ian needs stability; he needs a strict schedule that will help him stay stable.”_ Ian had hated that doctor; hated how she talked about him in third person with Mickey like the chemical imbalance in his brain altered his comprehension too. But Mickey hadn’t liked that bitch much either. But not because her eyes looked past him like he wasn’t even there the way Ian hated. But because her eyes pierced _through_ him; like she saw how bad he was for Ian, like she knew he would fuck up Ian’s life. Young Mickey hadn’t liked that; the insinuation that he didn’t care about Ian enough to save him. But with years of retrospection and maturing, Mickey had come to largely agree with her. If he loved Ian, _really_ , wouldn’t he want to save Ian from himself too?

 

   Lili seemed to think that reasoning was bullshit; she had smacked him over the head for thinking it when he had admitted it to her, high on weed and the knowledge that Ian (already drunk) was passed out in his bed. Lili had some weird kind of faith in him; something that Mickey hadn’t been trusted with in his life, save Ian. No one trusted a Milkovich. No one placed their faith in a Milkovich. A Milkovich was good for weed, for cheap coke, for looking at when you wanted to feel better about yourself. Even in the heap of trash that was the Southside, there were some people better than others. Batty Sheila and her daughter were the best it got in their vicinity. Kev and Vee, with their business were good. The Gallaghers, too, were better than many. They had a home, family; love, even if they had to struggle all the time. Mickey could vouch for the fact that a house did not always equal a home. He was living proof of what it meant to grow up without love; to be most afraid of the very people who you called your family. But Ian had placed his faith in the white trash he had been. Lili trusted him; even though the first time she had seen him he had been completely messed up and high off his ass.

 

   That trust warmed his heart; and if the boy pressed a careless kiss to her temple when he was leaving; it would be blamed on the high. It would be a side effect of the one joint they had shared even though he had _way_ higher tolerance than that. He wouldn’t mention it, and neither would she. But the affectionate gesture would never be erased, lying there between them forever now. Mickey’s mind spun in colourful circles as he prowled up the stairs, tripping twice, and climbed into bed with the boy he loved and so desperately wanted to be good enough for.

 

//

 

   There was an unspoken rule in the Sanchez house. _Honesty._ The trust between the closest members in Sanchez’s employ was never explicitly referred to, but it was assumed to be omnipresent. Okay, maybe Mickey wasn’t being _completely_ truthful; even if it was a fucking lie of omission, and it made him feel sick inside. He had told everyone about Enzo admitting he had been responsible for the shooting, but had left out the little subplot of Mickey being his true conquest. Something about the possessive way Enzo had spoken of Mickey, like he would _own_ him had completely thrown him off. It reminded him too much of those last few months in prison; of being Terry’s kept boy and being treated like a commodity by his own father. No way in hell would he ever become someone’s property against his will again in his life. He didn’t mind belonging to Ian; the quiet possessiveness of Ian’s hands on his. He didn’t mind belonging to the Sanchez clan; of having a family who would stand by him. But that was different. Belonging to Sanchez, Ramirez, Lili, _Ian_ was him putting himself into the hands of people he trusted with himself. But being at someone’s beck and call, to be completely under someone’s control against his will was something Mickey had had enough of in his life.

 

   So yes, maybe Enzo’s words had inspired a bout of small panic attacks. Nothing too intense or immobilising, but a series of sudden moments of stark terror. Moments in the shower when his breathing would catch until he didn’t know if he was drowning or just not inhaling at all. Moments when he would jerk awake, clutch for Ian among his sheets. And when Ian was there, he would clutch him and shudder silently for a few seconds. Ian didn’t ask him for explanations or justifications. The asshole, who had always read Mickey way too easily, probably had a good idea as to what was happening. The panic attacks didn’t disappear when Ian was around; but they were easier to live with. Like if he _was_ drowning, Ian made the hurt of it go away. He had gotten used to it, sleeping while curled against Ian, waking up in a tangle of limbs and smiles and morning breath, the same way he had all those years ago. He wasn’t some kind of domesticated housewife, but Ian beside him made him sleep easier in a near cringe-worthy way.

 

   Ian was an increasingly active member of the Sanchez family now. His first official meeting with Sanchez had been extremely formal at first; like Ian was the town’s bad boy picking up the preacher’s daughter for prom or some shit. Then even the toughened ex-army mobster had fallen head over heels for Ian’s puppy-dog smile and military stories. If Mickey wasn’t carefully, his so called family would probably completely forget about him in favour of the red headed boy. Maybe that should have made him jealous. It just made him really, really happy. Smile-that-cuts-your-face-in-half happy. Grin-at-thin-air happy. _Ian-_ happy.

 

   _Jesus,_ Mickey had forgotten how _right_ it felt to love Ian, to be loved by him.

 

   Mickey hadn’t repeated his emotionally charged confession of love after that one night. Ian said it often. He said it when Mickey jerked awake in the middle of the night in the throes of panic. He said when they lazily woke up to the smell of Ramirez (a surprisingly good chef) making pancakes way past breakfast time. He said it when they met, or when they parted. It was almost like he was making up for lost time. Mickey made snarky comments about that, making Ian grin but having no effect on the affection he poured onto the other boy.

 

   Ian didn’t expect him to say it in return. Mickey hadn’t even seen any disappointment in Ian’s eyes when he offered up yet another _I love you_ without hearing the same back. Mickey wanted to say it, he did. He wanted Ian to know. But he couldn’t shake the fear that an _I love you_ would just signal goodbyes and heartbreak the way it always had for them. And it had destroyed Mickey before. Twice. He knew they might be living with an expiry date already; he didn’t want to hasten its arrival.

 

   Ian hadn’t taken well to knowing about Mickey’s epic downhill journey after he reached Mexico, until Lili and the Sanchez’s had taken him in. It had always baffled Mickey as to why the group had decided to take a chance of a seeming junkie like him; seeing as they had always seemed to closely knit and exclusive since. Ian was too busy pulling his hair out to ponder with Mickey on that particular puzzlement.

 

    “You _what?_ ” he had snapped when Mickey had let it slip that he had formed a close bond with cocaine upon arrival to Mexico. “It wasn’t, like, an addiction or anything,” Mickey had defended quickly, “I quit pretty easily once Lili brought me here. I just needed to see that I _had_ a future somewhere. Things were looking pretty bleak there for a while, man.” He had hoped that would pacify Ian somewhat, the fact that it had never (thankfully) been an _addiction_ per se; more of a distraction. Anyway, coke had only been his poison for a little while. Once his dealer OD’d, it freaked him out enough to convince him to stick with liquor thereafter. Mickey was miserable, sad, sure. But he didn’t want to _die._ It had admittedly crossed his mind, on dark, cold nights; the futility of his existence. Sure, he wasn’t the nicest person in the world. But _no one_ wanted him? _No one_ would come for him? _No one_ would miss him if he died? After things with Ian had gotten serious when they were kids, he had thought that there would at least be one person who would be there to bury him; the only person that really mattered. But the parting at the border had killed that little fantasy of his. He was no longer sure Ian would be there; though part of him believed Ian loved him _enough_ to be there for that final goodbye. But Mickey would be in Mexico. Alive, dead, in a fucking coma, Ian would have no way to know.

 

   Now that had changed. Ian was here again. Mickey even had a quasi-family of his own. He wasn’t alone anymore. It didn’t all look bleak anymore. It was enough to keep him away from more than an occasional joint or a couple beers with any of the aforementioned people. Ian hadn’t liked it, had apologised for something he had no hand in, promised Mickey he wouldn’t leave again. Ian said that a lot. Mickey knew he believed that. Yet, he found himself nervous at times. Like when they had woken up and the beginning of a questioned had formed in Mickey’s mouth- “Have you taken your-...” snapping his mouth closed a moment too late. His eyes were wide; waiting for something terrible to happen. Caring too much had granted him only a break up, a broken heart, a jail sentence. “Mick,” Ian said in a gentle voice, clearly not pissed off. Mickey let out a breath of relief he hadn’t know he was holding in. “You can ask. It’s okay for you to ask.” Mickey nodded rigidly, yet hesitant. “I know you just care. I know you cared back then too,” Ian had drawn closer, lacing their fingers together. And two days when Mickey had asked, Ian had responded with a simple _yes_ and that was the best gift Mickey could’ve received.

 

   Of course, when Ian had let it slip that Mickey’s birthday was coming up, Lili, Ramirez and Sanchez had completely freaked out and he knew he would be getting a lot of scarcely required gifts too.

 

   October creeped up on them; warm toned leaves loudly crunching underfoot, weather turning colder, nights longer. Business slowed down, would be slow until Halloween came around and everyone tried to be freaky by smoking up. October meant his birthday was coming, too. Mickey grumbled about the preparations even as they were made; his day being offered up to the whole gang while Ian snatched him up at night. He complained about how unnecessary it all was even as it warmed his heart that people were _fighting_ to spend time with him. Mandy and Iggy had been the only ones to remember his birthday most of the time back at the Milkovich house. And it wasn’t like they had celebrated or anything. Happy birthday meant a free bag of weed, and it was just how it was. Mickey didn’t regret all those years spent with his siblings, silently smoking on the porch. That had been all they could do at the time. That was the only way you showed affection in that house.

 

   Now, everything had changed.

 

   The party had been at the Sanchez house; with Lili, Ramirez, Sanchez, Ian and a bunch of their more likeable business associates. Elena included; much to Ramirez’s delight. The party was loud, chaotic and reminded Mickey so much of Friday nights at the Alibi it made his chest ache. He could practically _see_ Tommy sitting at the bar, Frank passed out somewhere in the bathroom. Mickey drank; rolled his eyes at the messy cake the siblings had whipped up and left with a light heart and a pile of gifts though he had repeatedly asked everyone to get him nothing. They had turned out be watches, a sexy ass gun from Ramirez and a bunch of toys of the less innocent kind he just knew had been the siblings’ gleeful contributions. He remembered Lili’s toast, ending with, “Here’s to my brother Mickey’s birthday!” He had waited for her to correct her drunken slip-up, realising a couple moments later that it hadn’t been one. She considered Mickey her _brother._ Sanchez looked like the proud dad he had never had. Ian Gallagher’s hand was in his. It was pretty damn perfect.

 

//

 

   Mickey was nervous about the night. Because he had a plan; a return gift of sorts. This was it; Mickey was going to tell Gallagher he was finally ready. He had thought it for a long time; it was probably the longest they had been together without fucking. Mickey hadn’t wanted to freak out midway or some shit, so he had held it off. But this was it. He was ready. It wasn’t just a gift to Ian, but to himself too. That night Mickey was finally going to let himself move on.

 

   Their relationship had sappy moments, but they weren’t super cheesy as a rule. So there were no candles or roses when Mickey walked into the Ian’s apartment; but there was the faint smell of pine in the air, the faint sound of ‘Love is a Battlefield’ playing quietly, making him grin. “Okay,” Ian had said after seating him down on the couch, “So I _know_ you said not to get you anything.” Mickey groaned and rolled his eyes, but it was more for show than anything else, because he had kind of known Gallagher wouldn’t miss out a chance for gift giving. He lived for that shit. “You’re a dick,” He commented with no heat, making Ian smile brilliantly. “ _But_ technically, I didn’t get you anything for your birthday. But I’ve had this for a while. I saw it a year ago at this military exhibition or something; and I... thought of you. Figured if I ever found you again, I would give it to you.” Mickey’s heart constricted at the thought of Ian thinking of him, remembering him while they had been apart. With that, Ian produced a little box of the jewellery sort; completely mystifying the birthday boy. He opened it to find silver dog tags, carved with the word _free_ on the back.

 

   Mickey’s heart beat dully, breathing constricting. Ian looked nervous, “I have a matching one,” he produced an identical chain from under his shirt “The guys who owned these probably meant freedom for the country or some shit; but for us... d’you remember?” Mickey convinced his head to nod even as he kind of just wanted to curl up and cry. _Ian, what you and I have makes me free._ “It still does, Mick. You still make me feel free.”

 

   Unconsciously, they had drawn closer together, mouths a breath away from each other. Mickey reached up to press their lips together. “Ian,” he practically whispered after pulling away, “I want you to fuck me.”

 

   That made Ian pull away slightly to look into his eyes. “Mick, you don’t have to. I don’t need you _that_ way to be with you.” “I want you to,” Mickey responded, drawing closer till he was practically straddling Ian’s lap, “Please.” That please convinced Ian, though he said more than once that Mickey could tell him to stop whenever he wanted to.

 

   It wasn’t the same as it had been all those years, but it wasn’t that different. It was still _them,_ and they still loved each other the same, and they still looked the same with pleasure coursing through them and each other’s names on their lips. It was gentler; they weren’t rushed for the first time in their lives. And Mickey had stopped Ian’s worried comments by saying, “It’s okay. I know you aren’t them.” And it honestly hadn’t been unnerving at all. Because this was _Ian._ Ian who made him safe; who made him free. And if Ian had let a tear slip at the thought of Mickey having that faith in him, they didn’t talk about it.

 

   After, Mickey fell asleep. Ian told him he loved him. And they assumed the big spoon-little spoon position they always had. It was a decidedly sappy fuck. Some would call it making love. _They_ would never, but they would mean it. Ian looked down at the boy he had lost, and found, and lost, and found over and over again, knowing Mickey would always be his choice.

 

   So he lay beside him, knowing there billions of people around them, but really there were only two; the luckiest red haired boy in the world and his raven haired lover who was the reason he earned that title.

 

//

 

   As the two boys lay tangled in Ian’s sheets, another one delivered a package to the Sanchez house. It looked innocent. Wrapped into deep blue paper, with a bow. The only thing insidious about it was the note-

 

   _Mickey,_   

_A beautiful gift for a beautiful man._

_With love,_

_Enzo_


	13. Ocean Eyes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> presents and days lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii!!
> 
> Enzo is such a creep ugh sorry for polluting the world with him
> 
> Chapter title and lyrics in the end are from Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish (Blackbear remix) which is OFFICIALLY MY FAVOURITE SONG EVER AND IT FITS SO WELL WITH IAN AND MICKEY HELP
> 
> anywayy hope you enjoy it x

   The night was great, and was Ian still riding the high of all that had happened. Not just the sex, but the fact that Mickey now wore the dog tags Ian had bought for him nearly a year ago. He remembered that day like it had happened the week before. He had gone to a military exhibition; a field trip of sorts with his fellow EMT’s. The place had been full of old guns and historic pictures, with price tags that seemed to be higher than he could count. He had thought he would be keeping his money safely in his pocket, when he came across the two necklaces in a glass case somewhere in the corner. If he hadn’t been bored out of his mind and carefully looking for distractions, he probably would’ve missed them. They were placed side by side; two chains with dog tags reading _free._ It had been nearly two years since Ian had last seen Mickey; but he was still the first person Ian’s mind went to. _Ian, what you and I have makes me free. Ian, what you and I have makes me free. Ian, what you and I have makes me free._

He had to take them. Even if he never (his mind protested the very thought) saw Mickey again, having the necklaces felt like a connection to blue eyed boy he still missed after two years the same way he had on the first day. He had taken them home, getting the auctioneer to pack it like a gift, though he had no idea if he would ever get to give it to the one it was meant for. He had worn its twin and never taken it off since. If flavour-of-the-month had noticed, he had never said anything.

 

   Now, with Mickey wearing it, the world seemed to fit again. Mickey was _his_ again. They were bound not only by the chains, but also what they symbolised; their history, their love for each other. It felt... right. That was the only word for it. Mickey spent most of round two with his teeth pressed tightly around Ian’s tags, something that made Ian grin obnoxiously until Mickey told him to _fuck off._

 

    All was right in the world. It was good, it was great.

 

   Until they reached the Sanchez stronghold the morning after and found the other three residents standing around a... birthday present tensely. “What’s happening?” Mickey asked immediately, losing the light hearted tone that had earlier. Sanchez’s eyes jumped up, “A package for you. From Enzo.” Ian saw Mickey flinch, even as he took a step closer. He traced the packaging carefully with his index finger, then without turning around said, “Ian, get out of here.”

 

    Ian’s eyebrows drew together at that. “Fuck you. I’m not going anywhere.” Mickey turned now, shaking his head. “This could be a bomb or some shit. _Go._ All of you.” He looked entreatingly at the four other people in the room. No one moved. “Jesus, Milo,” Ramirez snapped, “We’re not going to leave you and go. We stick _together._ ” Mickey looked increasingly frustrated, but gave up the fight. He passed a subconscious touch over the tags on his chest, something Ian would have smiled at if the situation was less tense. Ian’s heart beat fast. If it _was_ a bomb, they would all die. There was no way they would survive at such a close range. Even as his heart broke for the Gallaghers back in Chicago, he couldn’t help but think that _this_ was how he wanted to go. With Mickey, matching chains to identify them as each other’s even after they were gone.

 

   All around the room, the five people waited with bated breath as Mickey tentatively opened the package. Ian itched to move closer to him, wrap his arms around him if it was the last time. He stuck behind though, knowing Mickey wouldn’t like that, although they both knew a meter wouldn’t make a difference in the impact a bomb would have. So he waited. And watched.

 

   It was two centuries.

 

   It was just a few moments.

 

   There was no explosion when it was opened, and a collective sigh of relief went around the room. That is, until Mickey lifted something out of the box and immediately dropped it like it was the plague. Ian decided it had been enough of waiting around and letting Mickey do everything alone when he saw his hands shaking ever so slightly. “Mick?” He questioned quietly, grabbing those very hands lightly before he could even see the other boy’s face. Mickey leaned back slightly into his touch. “What?” Ian heard Ramirez behind him, “What is it?” Once Ian saw that Mickey was slightly less shaky, he peered inside the box, confused when he found a collar inside; the kind he had only seen pets wear. It was studded with, likely genuine, diamonds and gold. Mickey let out a small, disgusting sound when he saw it again. Ian lifted it up to show the others, since Mickey didn’t appear to move at all.

 

   Though Ian couldn’t recognise the object, it drew an immediate reaction from the others. “ _Enzo_ sent you that?!” Sanchez snapped, “Is there something you want to tell me, Milo?” Whereas that nickname had always sounded tender, it now was spat out angrily. Mickey flinched. “What is it? I don’t understand.” Ian wondered aloud, hating that he was in the dark about what was happening. “Mick?” he now appealed to the blue eyed boy. Lili offered him exposition instead, while Mickey just muttered, “I’ma fucking kill that bitch.”

 

   “It’s a collar. Some of the gang leaders like to use them to... identify what belongs to them. They claim their sidepieces. It’s a mark of ownership,” she explained shortly, face drawn tightly. Mickey looked as sick as Ian felt. He dropped the collar like it had scalded him, similar to Mickey had. It seemed like some kind of cruel parody of Ian’s own gift to Mickey. But the meaning was different; sure, Ian wanted Mickey to be _his._ He wanted them to carry around pieces of each other all the time. But he didn’t want to _own_ him. Mick was his own person; just Ian’s one person.

 

   “ _Mickey,”_ Sanchez now used his actual (well, the name most people knew) to nudge the blue eyed boy towards speaking, “Explain. Now.” Hesitantly, clearly dreading the confrontation to come, Mickey turned. “That day, when I ran into Enzo and he told me about shooting Ramirez, he also told me some other shit.” Curiosity lay openly on the faces of everyone except Ian, who already knew the story; mouth already turned downwards in displeasure. “Said he was gonna... _own_ me. Make me his. Figure he was just playing, but clearly not,” he gestured towards the perverse ‘present’. “I ain’t gonna be some bitch’s sidepiece,” Mickey ended defiantly; like someone in the room was going to force him too. Anger moved across Sanchez’s stony face, cheekbones clenching, brow furrowed. “I know Milo,” He finally said, stonily but at least the nickname was back, “And you didn’t think that was worth a mention?” Mickey shrugged tiredly, “It wasn’t a _threat._ Just freaked me the fuck out.” Lili glided forward to lay a hand on the arm Ian wasn’t already holding. “You okay, Milo?” she asked earnestly, “He didn’t try anything did he?” she added in a quieter tone that made Ian think not everyone in the room knew the full extent of Mickey’s trauma in prison. He nodded, and then shook his head.

 

   There was silence for a few heartbeats. Then Mickey spoke up, “I wanna... is there some work to do? I need to take my mind off this shit.” Sanchez looked ready to retort, but seeing Mickey’s expression went with, “I’ve got some business downtown. Come with.” Mickey nodded and everyone slowly shuffled out of the room, Lili taking the collar and saying, “I’ll get rid of it.”

 

   Soon, only the boys were left in the room. “You go home,” Mickey prompted, leaving Ian feeling desolate. “I’m sorry,” the other boy offered quietly. Ian shook his head, pushing forth a smile he really didn’t feel at all. “It’s okay.” He bent down to kiss Mickey lightly, feeling the boy relax slightly in his arms. “I’ll come over if I can, okay?” Mickey offered up, before leaving. It took a couple minutes before Ian could bring himself to move. His heart was confused as to what he was supposed to feel; angry at Enzo, or sad because their previously happy mood had disappeared. Apparently, it decided on both; so even as his knuckles grew white as he clutched his steering wheel tightly, there were frustrated tears in his eyes.

 

//

 

   The day went slow. Ian didn’t notice much. He caught up on calling his family; none of whom he had told about his reunion with Mickey yet. Lip was his usual asshole self, though the slur of his words at three in the afternoon stressed him out. Fi assured him everything was great and fussed about his diet and living conditions in her typical maternal way. Debbie, ever the busy mother, dropped his call in favour of a quick text full of typos that made him grin lightly. Carl confirmed Ian would visit for New Year’s, even though it was months away and Liam told him colourful stories about the new friends he was making in school.

 

   Talking to his family always left Ian in a happy-nostalgic mood. That prompted to put on some soothing music in the form of ‘Ocean Eyes’, the blackbear remix; a song that always made him think of Mickey. Mickey, who he worried about all day, even as the night creeped up on him. Mickey, who showed up just after seven, with takeout and hands that wandered and wanted.

 

_“No fair_

_You really know how to make me cry_

_When you give me those ocean eyes_

_I'm scared_

_I've never fallen from quite this high_

_Falling into your ocean eyes_

_Those ocean eyes”_


	14. Turn The Lights Down Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confrontations and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii  
> this is basically just some a super fluffy filler because I love my boys and you guys x  
> p.s- chapter title from Turn The Lights Down Low by MAX feat. gnash

 

 

   Mickey’s day had not gone quite as idly as Ian’s had. Sanchez had taken Mickey right up to the devil’s door; Enzo’s home. The journey there had been silent at first, Mickey driving as Sanchez stared stonily out of the window and made angry calls to people cancelling his engagements for the day. Eventually, Mickey broke the silence; knowing this time it was all on him. “Look... I’m sorry,” He muttered lightly, Milkovich pride threatening to choke the apology. Sanchez looked up; meeting his eyes for the first time since the truth had come out, nodding at him slightly for him to continue. Mickey sighed inwardly; he had hoped a simple apology would suffice. “I just...” he shrugged weakly, “Didn’t really think he mattered. Figured he was just bulshitting the other day. Didn’t know he was serious till he sent that... thing.” Sanchez seemed satisfied now, which in turn made Mickey felt relieved. He had hoped that this wouldn’t drive some kind of wedge between them; he liked having a father figure who actually thought he was good for something. “Milo, I’m not angry. I’m worried. Enzo isn’t someone I trust to back off when he’s told to.” Mickey ignored the twinge in his heart when he heard the word  _worried_ , settling for a less sappy, muttered, “Thanks.” Sanchez just grinned at his emotionally constipated protégée, and Mickey knew they would be fine.

 

   When they reached the house, Mickey felt sick all over again. He wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation, even if Sanchez was there by his side this time. The guards looked surprised when Sanchez walked right up to the door; most people probably booked their time with Enzo. But they let him through easily enough. No one who was anyone refused audience with Sergio Sanchez if they knew better. They were led to a private room by a stoic-faced guard, and Mickey felt completely out of place in his rumpled, day old, abandoned on the floor the whole night clothes. Hell, even the guards looked more fitted for the role of drug-lord’s-right-hand-man. He walked into the room and was seated on one of the armchairs available. Enzo swept in two minutes later, dressed in an impeccable suit, making Mickey feel even more bedraggled. “Sorry for being late, I wasn’t expecting company!” he exclaimed brightly. Sanchez and Mickey both stood up in greeting. “Sanchez,” Enzo nodded in his direction, a gesture Sanchez returned. “Mickey!” he greeted much more brightly, “My, you’re looking exceptionally cute and rumpled today.” Mickey blanched, before snapping, “Cut the bullshit, Enzo.”

 

   Enzo actually flinched, placing a theatrical hand on his chest. “As my associate so rightly said, I’ve had enough of whatever you think you’re doing,” Sanchez interjected, “ _You_ come into  _my_ house, shoot  _my_ team, play around with a member of  _my_ gang. Who do you think you are?” He punctuated each sentence by pointing at Enzo’s chest. Mickey noted with some satisfaction that Enzo’s grin wasn’t quite as wide anymore. “You have no proof of anything,” Enzo said, raising his hands in mock surrender, his smile turning mischievous again as his gaze slid towards Mickey. “Mickey, on the other hand, I’m not  _playing_ with him. I want him. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Mickey wasn’t sure if that last offer was directed towards him or Sanchez. Either way, he responded with a sharp, “Fuck. Off,” punctuating the last word with him storming out of the room. Behind him, he heard Sanchez say, “You’re staying the fuck away from me and my gang. Or you aren’t going to be smiling anymore.”

 

   With that, the two left. Sanchez headed home, while Mickey took a cab in favour of Ian’s house instead. It was nearly two hours away, and the long journey did a lot to help clear his mind.

 

//

 

   When he got there, Ian had some slow music playing that made him want to abandon talking in favour of hungry touches instead. He did as much. They made it to the couch, Ian pressing on top of him, shirts abandoned somewhere along the way. Ian’s hands wandered all along Mickey’s torso, but the boy pulled back slightly when he felt a patch of raised of skin along Mickey’s waist, hidden by his arm. “What’s that?” he asked, voice still thick with desire. “Nothing,” Mickey said quickly, knowing  _exactly_ what Ian had just felt. Ian lifted Mickey’s arm lightly, observing the patch of skin underneath.

 

   There was silence for a few minutes, Ian’s face falling. Mickey felt like the worst person in the world; but a quick look at the tattoo helped him recall how he had felt when he had got it, that it wasn’t unwarranted. “How did I not see it while we were...?” the questioning tone in Ian’s words was strong, but the sadness lingered. Mickey shrugged, “It was dark. It’s not in the most obvious place either,” he attempted at humour, “Not like my finger-tats, huh?” Ian’s responding smile was half hearted at most.

 

    _Fuck love,_ Mickey’s side read in bold lettering, the way a stray piece of paper had in his childhood bedroom. It wasn’t probably his maybe-boyfriend/ only love’s most beloved phrase. Ian had bugged him to take down the paper for the longest time. The day after he had first kissed Ian, he had ripped off the paper silently and when Ian had noticed that during their ‘sleepover’, his knowing smile made Mickey want to tear both his hair out and Ian’s clothes off.

 

   Ah, the infamous sleepover. The sleepover that, in many ways, had seemed to change their whole story completely when Mickey looked back. If Terry hadn’t walked in that day, Ian wouldn’t have gone to the army. If he hadn’t gone, there wouldn’t have been the whole mess with the MP’s. Sammi wouldn’t have called them on Ian. Mickey wouldn’t have tried to kill her. He wouldn’t have gone to jail. He wouldn’t be a Mexican fugitive working for an infamous drug lord. He would’ve never found himself sitting in that tattoo chair a year into living in Mexico with a tattooist bent over him.

 

   Mickey’s mind had been a mess that night. He had gotten drunk the night before, fucked a red head and his vodka addled brain convinced him it was Ian who he had been with, who had left him after without a word. Of course, with morning came the return of his common sense. Of  _course_ it wasn’t Ian. Of  _course_ Ian had not come back. Of  _course_ he was alone. Sick of himself and his disgusting co-dependency, Mickey had headed over to a tattoo parlour downtown without a word to those he lived with; though the tattoo he had had in mind wasn’t the one Ian’s fingers were now tracing.

 

   “If it makes you feel better, I went there that night to get your name covered up. Figured it was mistake in the first place,” he peeked up at Ian, only to see him looking back with an even  _more_ hurt expression , if that was even possible, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just scratch you out. Under my skin, ya know?” He let out a small, nervous chuckle. Ian’s smile was now more genuine. “I’m glad,” he said softly, reaching down to touch the messy, misspelled name. Mickey believed him. Ian seemed to love the tattoo in a way he hadn’t expected. He traced the letters idly, kissed them when they fucked and look over them every chance he got like they would disappear any moment.

 

//

 

   Then they proceeded with their original intent, serious conversations about the significance of Mickey’s tattoos forgotten. Or maybe not completely. When they finished, and headed to the kitchen to eat the takeout in their boxers, Ian had wrapped his long arms around Mickey’s waist from behind him and nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck. “I’m going to love you so much, Mick,” he had whispered, making Mickey’s heart beat harder, and yet fall completely still, “I’m gonna love you so much that you’ll never want to see those words again.”

 

   Mickey was looking forward to it.

 

//

 


	15. I'm Not Just a Fuck-up, I'm the Fuck-up You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the situation with Enzo gets progressively worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii!!  
> so this is officially the graduation of Enzo from creep to full on stalker.   
> apologies.  
> chapter title from Don't Love by Snakehips ft. MO  
> BEAUTIFUL SONG LISTEN TO IT  
> sorry it's been a while  
> x

    Days seemed to be passing slowly; moving as if affected by the laziness that seemed to fall over everything in fall. Leaves fell in myriad colors and crunched underfoot. It was pretty damn beautiful. Or so Mickey was told by the excited puppy named Ian he had happened to be with. Ian would jump into leaf piles like a three year old, dragging Mickey to fucking Starbucks to drink their fall specials that he refused in favour of plain old coffee, grumbling about the cost even as Ian teased him for being a ‘grumpy old man’. It had been a little over a week since the ‘birthday gift’ mess and the atmosphere in the Sanchez house remained a little tenser than usual. Mickey could tell Sanchez was practically vibrating with anticipation, waiting, just _waiting_ for Enzo to make mistake so they could knock him down. The idea seemed pretty great to Mickey, but waiting for that moment made him want to rip his own hair out. The ambience in the house was stifling, and Mickey felt like everyone’s eyes on him were strangling him slowly. So it felt great to escape with Ian and pretend they were just two ordinary guys.

 

    It was nice pretending that way, sometimes. That the tattoo on Mickey’s chest was in a messy scrawl out of artistic choice, not the result of shaking hands and one too many pills. That Mickey _wasn’t_ a fugitive forced into the country. That he could walk over that border if he wanted to. That they hadn’t lost so many years. It was nice to pretend.

 

   But even though that alternative life sounded great, so was their real one. Mickey was happy, really happy for perhaps the first time in his life. He had been happy and content before with Ian, but there was always some amount of darkness coloring their lives. In the beginning, fear of Terry. Later, being piss poor and Ian slowly spiralling away to somewhere he refused help from. For the first time, Mickey had Ian beside him, healthy and happy, and he could hold his hand without being afraid.

 

   But maybe he should have been afraid.

 

//

 

   Unknown to the boys, they were being closely watched. Narrowed eyes watched as they entered a small diner proudly named ‘Patsy’s Pies’. The taller one did a double take when he saw the sign, called _Mickey_ (the name sounded beautiful even in his mind) and they both laughed at it for a few moments, before snapping a picture and heading inside. He sent a silent order to himself to remain calm. Seeing _his_ raven haired man with another was not the ideal situation, but patience was the most important virtue. That ginger motherfucker would have to be taken care of, but not here. Not now. So he sat silently, eyes watching the grinning pair through the store front.

 

///

 

   The aforementioned grinning pair was out on a ‘date’. Looking back at their history, and the few components that made a date _itself,_ Mickey wondered how many of their earlier interactions may have counted, if they had been so inclined to label them that way. A date with Ian consisted of food, bad movies and _worse_ humour, courtesy of Ian. Easy enough. Being with Ian, slipping into this easy domesticity was so easy it took his breath away. When Mickey’s phone rang halfway through, he was inclined to ignore it. But when the same number called him twice, thrice, his mind wondered whether it was worth answering. Maybe it was Lili, or Ramirez calling for help from a burner. So when Ian nodded lightly, encouraging him to answer, he grumbled only slightly before picking up the buzzing phone.

 

   “The fuck do you want?” he ‘greeted’ irritably. Ian rolled his eyes lightly at Mickey’s predictable attitude and beamed in a decidedly sappy way when Mickey flipped him off. “Mickey,” a voice greeted smoothly, not daunted at the least by Mickey’s annoyance. The voice was sickeningly sweet, and familiar. It made Mickey’s stomach turn. He had bought a new cell since he had demolished the earlier one during the altercation with the very person now calling him.

 

   Damn, Enzo was going to force him to waste a shitload of money on buying new phones.

 

   Ian seemed to notice Mickey physically cringing away from the phone, not responding to the caller. He reached out a hesistent hand, not sure if Mickey would welcome it, considering they were in public. The fact that Mickey readily accepted the display of affection made Ian a couple thousand times more worried. He watched as Mickey licked his lips nervously, swallowing convulsively. The anticipation, the twinge of not knowing what was painting those worry lines on Mickey’s face made him want to snatch the phone out of the other man’s hand.

 

   He didn’t.

 

   But he was sure as hell tempted to.

 

   “How the fuck did you get this number,” Mickey snapped, sentence emerging not as a question but an enraged statement. He had been careful; getting a burner, giving the number to only Sanchez and the twins. And Ian.

 

    Fuck, Ian.

 

   Enzo wouldn’t be able to access the burners his team used. But he would sure as hell find a way to access Ian’s plain old, vanilla prepaid cell. The thought of Ian being under Enzo’s thumb made him angry. Really fucking angry. Mickey knew what having a job like his entailed. His life would be on the line; but Ian? Ian was off bounds.

 

   “If you touch him, I’ll fucking burn you alive,” Mickey let out through clenched teeth, making Ian’s eyes widen at the violent outburst. Ian could take a pretty could guess that Mickey was talking about him. Given the threat, the look on Mickey’s face and his intuition, he had a bad feeling that he knew who Mickey was talking to. It wasn’t difficult to guess. There was only one person who had been tormenting Mickey, and his whole gang, recently. There was one person who had had him shot, who had sent him that disgusting ‘gift’, who had made Mickey destroy his other phone, who had inspired the bout of panic attacks that had been plaguing him recently.

 

   Who was now making Mickey turn green, looking like he was going to be sick any minute. It made Ian want to choke that faceless, omnipresent threat he had been introduced to only as ‘Enzo’. Mickey snapped his head to the side suddenly, looking out of the glass shop front searchingly. Ian chased his glance, but he could see nothing. Judging by Mickey’s frustrated expression; he hadn’t spotted what he was looking for either.

 

   “Stay away from me. But if you won’t do that,” Mickey said, voice tightly wound, “stay away from _him._ He ain’t a pawn in whatever sick game you’re playing. I wasn’t kidding about burning you alive.” With that, he finally cut the phone.

 

   As the call ended, so did Mickey’s tough facade. He looked utterly defeated, and scared, and Ian kind of wanted to hide him away and protect him from the rest of the world. Mickey ran a hand down his face and let out a wet, shaky breath. Ian knew better than to ask him about what had happened in the middle of the diner.

 

   So he simply asked, “Home?”

 

   “Home,” Mickey nodded quietly.

 

//

 

   They hadn’t even ordered, so they walked out of the diner as soon as that agreement was reached. He watched Mickey walk cautiously, surveying the area around them carefully, and Ian had a sinking feeling Enzo was watching them somehow. He didn’t bring it up, though. Not until they got into Ian’s car, drove to his apartment (that had started feeling more and more like _their_ apartment recently) and closed the door behind him. He checked the lock twice, if only to give them both some peace of mind. Then he turned and faced Mickey.

 

   “What happened?”

 

   Mickey looked wrecked for a moment, like having this conversation was too exhausting for him. Then he began.

 

  “He was there. Outside the diner. He was... watching us,” Mickey shuddered, “Told me he saw when you held my hand. He got the number through your cell, Ian. He- he threatened you. Said I was _his,_ wasn’t allowed another man in my life.” Ian felt nausea flood through him. It was sick; all of it. ‘Fuck, Ian, I can’t do this to you,” Mickey looked up at him, blue eyes beseeching him to understand. Losing Mickey made Ian a hell of a lot more scared then Enzo did. Mickey was worth it; all of it.

 

   “Mick, _no._ ” He made sure his voice came out surer, more confident than he really felt, “That’s not the solution. He can’t just... we can’t let him _play_ us like that.”

 

   Mickey shook his head, “If something happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself.” He looked down, muttered, “So fucking stupid- should’ve known...” to himself. Ian approached him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. “This isn’t good for you. _I’m_ not good for you. You need stability, safety. I’m none of that, Ian. I’m a complete fuck-up man. Not gonna pull you down with me.”

 

   His words were starting to sound too much like goodbye to Ian. “Don’t say that. You’re it for me, Mick. You’re not a fuck-up; you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known,” He tucked his free hand’s index finger under Mickey’s chin, forcing him to look up, trying to get the other man to understand. “I need stability, safety. But I need you too, Mick. I trust you. I know you’ll keep me safe. I need you to be safe too. I can’t keep you safe if you aren’t by my side.”

 

 ///

 

   There was plenty in that little speech that seemed debatable to Mickey. He wasn’t the best choice for Ian the way the red head seemed to think, in his opinion. And there was no way Ian was keeping _him_ safe. He would make sure Ian stayed as far away from it all as possible. But those were other fights, for other days. He relented, resting his head against Ian’s chest. Maybe he wanted to let Ian have this small win. Maybe he was too tired to fight. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to believe it was true.  


	16. Here I Am.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone pays Ian a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI FRIENDS!  
> sorry this is coming so late, and is so short, but I have finals right now and wanted to give you guys a little something :)  
> also, shoutout to a user whose name was a play on alexander lightwoood I think (?) who left a great comment, but I deleted it by mistaake (I know I'm a fucking mess) and so I didn't get to respond :( thank you for your kind words!  
> chapter title from Ghosts by BANNER  
> hope you enjoy xx  
> ps- I'm taking prompts at immabookgeek.tumblr.com/ask

   The moment Ian walked into their (his, _his,_ he reminded himself) house that night, he knew something was wrong. The door was unlocked, and Ian wasn't the kind of person to leave the house with the door open; his upbringing had given him better survival instincts than that. He walked in cautiously, wishing for once that he was a cop and not an EMT so could have a gun in hand. It probably wouldn’t have been advisable to use it for occasions not related to work, but it would have made him feel a hell of a lot better. He darted into the room, trying to be as silent as he could, flicking on the light switch next to the door. He held his EMT bag like a weapon, even though he knew it wouldn’t help at all.

 

   The lights came on, and Ian froze.

 

   “Ian Gallagher,” the man _sitting_ on his _fucking couch_ purred as he came into view, “Well, I certainly see what Mikhailo sees in you.” The use of Mickey’s full name, the creep factor and the strange charisma in this stranger’s voice clued Ian into who was sitting in his living room.

 

   “Enzo,” he greeted lightly, trying to keep his voice steady. He itched to call Mickey, but at the same time wanted him to stay far away from the sick man in front of him. Fear spread through him; cold and metallic. He could see the danger in this man’s eyes; something slimy and disgusting lingering behind the beautiful facade.

 

    “Ian Clayton Gallagher,” he repeated, this time throwing in the middle name too, “From the Southside of Chicago, son of Frank and Monica Gallagher.” Ian felt sick, hearing himself unfold through Enzo’s words. If Enzo knew this stuff about him, he could get to Ian’s family. And no matter what, Ian’s family was off bounds. Finally, he could see Enzo not only in his physical form, but also for the truly disgusting _thing_ he was. “Don’t worry,” Enzo soothed, “I’m not threatening your family. Even _I_ have limits. But I’m showing you that I _know_ Ian. I know all about you. About you and Mickey. About your little Southside love story; your phone is easier to tap into than you know. Plus, I found a rather willing little informant.”

 

   Everything about the situation screamed _danger, danger, and danger._ “Who?” Ian spat out angrily. Enzo smiled, tracing an idle finger across the back of Ian’s sofa. “Hm... perhaps you are familiar with the name Terrance Milkovich?”

 

   Ian shut his eyes meditatively, breathing hard out of his nose. He should’ve killed Terry; should’ve killed him all those years ago before he had a chance to hurt Mickey again, and tell Enzo whatever the fuck he had told him. “Granted,” Enzo continued, drawing Ian’s mind back to the present, “It was difficult speaking with that homophobic piece of trash, but he was quite... informative. I know all about Mandy and Svetlana and... what was it? Yevgeny? Mikhailo wouldn’t want them hurt, now would he? I have a feeling that neither would you.”

    Ian felt even more sickened, as all the worst things in the world came together in front of him. “But as I said, I’m not going to threaten your families. At least,” he offered with a devious grin, “Not yet. But I found what I wanted to, Ian. I know all about him being raped in front of you. About him coming out for you. Going to jail for _you_ and being violated there, over and _over_ again,” Ian’s eyes were pricking with tears now, “I found out about your little escape over the border. I know you visited Jesus with him, but that he was alone when he crossed over. Makes me think you left him. I know about his drug habits; snorting cocaine like it was baby powder. Being hospitalised for alcohol poisoning. I have the medical records. D’you want to see them?” Ian shook his head, the movement only serving to make the tears overflowing in his eyes fall down. He took a choking breath, trying to steady himself. “I know,” Enzo voice was becoming increasingly dangerous, and Ian was collapsing under the weight of how he had hurt Mickey, “That you broke him, over and over again. I? I just want to take care of him, Ian. I don’t want to hurt him the way you have. I’m going to keep him _safe.”_

    Ian’s mind called bullshit on this one. He knew how much Enzo scared Mickey, knew how Mickey looked like he wanted to curl up every time they came in contact. But Enzo _had_ planted a seed of doubt in Ian’s mind about _him_ and Mickey. “Get out,” Ian snapped, wishing his voice wasn't trembling and soft, “Get the fuck out of our home.” The _our_ had slipped out so naturally, Jesus. Enzo raised his arms in surrender, moving backwards.

 

   He stepped out, but right before Ian shut the door on his face, he had one last thing to say. “He’s given you _every_ piece of him, Ian. What more do you want? Someday, that boy’s going to take a bullet for you and when he’s _gone,_ maybe you’ll finally let him have some peace.” That last line stabbed Ian like a machete and he shut the door, unable to look at the _snake_ in front of him anymore. And then he let himself cry.

 

//

 

   As night fell, Ian heard a knock at his door and opened it to find none other than Mickey Milkovich himself. “Hey,” Mickey grinned, face lighting up at the sight of Ian, leaning up to kiss him lightly. He walked past him and into the house, unwrapping the thin scarf around his neck and tossing it onto the couch. Ian felt slightly lightheaded. “Mick,” he said, making the boy turn around, “Mick, we have to talk.” Mickey’s happy, uninhibited expression disappeared completely. His walls were back up; Ian could practically see them. “Don’t, please,” Mickey said quietly, looking at the floor, already knowing what was happening. Ian’s eyes flooded for what was probably the fiftieth time since he had encountered Enzo. “ _Mick,”_ he whispered quietly, agony in his voice. The blue eyed boy finally looked up. Ian saw his eyes were glassy and his mind short circuted. Mickey walked up to him, grabbing his hands, “Ian, _please._ Don’t do this to me again. I can’t go through this again.”

 

   Ian reached to place his hands on Mickey’s cheeks, cradling his face. “I’m not good for you, Mick. I’ve hurt you too many times.” He wiped an errant tear running down Mickey’s face with his thumb. “You’re hurting me _now,”_ Mickey said voice choking, “You’re doing it again. I should’ve known,” he broke out of Ian’s grasp, “Should’ve known you would do this. You _always_ do this!” His voice had risen to a yell, “You _always_ leave me! Why do you lie? Why do you make me believe that you l-love me when you’re just going to leave me again?”

 

   Mickey’s voice had faded by the end of the little speech. Ian felt like the worst person in the world. “What brought this on? I thought... I thought we were good this time?” Mickey’s voice was childlike, and broken, and Ian just wanted to hold him forever. He considered making some shit up, but figured he owed Mickey the truth. “Enzo paid me a visit today,” he admitted, “Gave me a long speech about how I ruined you; with the jail, the coke, the alcohol. It’s like I’m your very own self-destruct button.” Mickey just looked furious, “Enzo came _here._ He talked to you?! Did he hurt you?” Ian shook his head, sniffing, “Look, you’re already doing this. You’re trying to keep me safe and you’re going to get hurt Mick. I can’t lose you like this!” Mickey’s face softened somewhat. He drew closer, placing calming hands on Ian’s shaking shoulders. “I’m not going to get hurt, Ian. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

 

    Ian burrowed his head into Mickey’s neck. “But _I_ want to take care of you.” Here, Ian’s voice broke, and he cried into Mickey’s neck. “He said someday you’re going to take a bullet for me, Mick. He said I’m going to be the reason you _die”_ Mickey ran soothing fingers through Ian’s hair, wondering where all his anger had gone. “I’m not saying I won’t take a shot for you, Ian. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. But I’m going to try not to, okay? That’s what I can offer you.” Ian didn't respond, but moaned unhappily. “Hey, you don’t gotta like it. But that’s how it is, okay? We keep each other safe, right? We always have.”

 

//


	17. Question Time

Hi guys, this isn't an update (sorry) BUT PLEASE DON'T GO AWAYY  
My exams are ending this week so I'll be updating soon!!!   
Just wanted to ask you guys about the future of the story. The Enzo storyline will be ending soon and I was wondering whether you guys would prefer the story ending with that, or continuing towards the boys' future together?  
I'm a people's writer, so I want to make sure you guys are on board with wherever this fic goes!  
Love you guys and looking forward to hearing from you xx


	18. You're My Favorite Thing in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update as promised!!  
> the next chapter is going to be the climax of the Enzo storyline so :)  
> hope you guys like it xx
> 
> oh, and chapter title from Who You Are by Blackbear

    Mickey’s mind was in overdrive, even as he lay in bed with Ian in his arms. The other boy was asleep; clearly drained by the... eventful day he had had. He couldn’t bring his mind to rest, or even slow down a little so he could fall into the much desired oblivion of sleep. His brain decided to be an asshole instead, shoving imagined scenario after scenario of Ian and Enzo; of Enzo hurting him, shooting him, _killing_ him; all to get to Mickey. He could feel his chest constricting with every choked breath; the familiar throes of panic running over him. He tried taking deeper breaths, holding the arm Ian had thrown around him closer to his body, reminding himself that no matter how it _could_ have gone, Ian was _here_ and _safe._

The thought calmed him enough to escape the building panic attack, but his mind just skipped over to thinking about the near-breakup that had occurred that evening. Mickey had stopped it; practically _begging_ Ian not to leave him again. It had seemed like a good idea when they wrapped themselves around each other like they were one person. It had seemed like a good idea when they fucked slow on the couch in the living room. It had seemed like a good idea when they had retreated to the bedroom; Ian falling asleep all at once, heavy with exhaustion. But when he was lying in the dark, faced with his thoughts, he couldn’t help but reflect on his own selfishness. Ian was in _danger;_ and not the theoretical kind. The threat was _real_ and _concrete_ and had been in their house that very day. Ian had faced Enzo down once. Mickey wasn’t happy with the odds of them getting away unscathed again. The _right_ thing to do would have been to free Ian from all this; give him an out, away from the danger his life posed. To keep him away from Enzo. To keep him safe.

 

   His mind had reflected on those melancholy thoughts for a little while more, before it seemed to snap at itself.

 

   _Enough._

Enough of the running. Of the hurting. Of being in love but always being apart.

 

   He and Ian had been separated enough over the years. By Terry, by Mickey’s situation, by Ian’s leaving, by prison walls and borders.

 

   _Enough._

The answer this time wasn't running, or hiding. The answer wasn’t _them_ being ruined again. The answer was to end the threat; to make sure Enzo would never be an issue for them again.

 

    With that resolve, and some amount of peace, finally in his mind; Mickey fell asleep.

 

///

 

   Mickey wasn't in bed when Ian woke up. He groped around in the sheets, searching for his warmth and his lips and the peace he always seemed to bring.

 

   He got none of that.

 

   He groaned at the realisation that he was alone, mind too heavy with sleep to consider _why_ Mickey was gone. He just closed his eyes, praying he could fool his body into falling asleep again. His body felt loose and pliant after he and Mickey had worked out all their residual stress and energy last night, followed by luxuriant sleeping. But as soon as he woke up, he was reminded of the situation they were in. He remembered Enzo, the poison in his words and the way it had felt to hear how much he had hurt Mickey; how much the other man predicted he would continue to do. He remembered Mickey; the way he had pleaded, the heartbreak in his eyes, how tightly he had held Ian; like he was trying to prevent him from running in a very physical way.

 

   Ian told himself that one day he would finally convince Mickey to stop being afraid he would leave him. The day before had admittedly been a bit of a setback, but Ian told himself that they had had enough of those. One day, hopefully sooner rather than later, Ian would be able to prove he wasn't running anymore. He would hug Mickey enough, kiss him enough, _love_ him enough to make him believe it. Ian wasn't running. Ian was here to stay this time. When that day came, Mickey would stop looking at him with the slightest fear every now and then. Mickey would stop looking at him like there was ticking clock over their heads; a timer counting down. Mickey would stop wincing every time Ian said he wanted to talk, and say he loved him without the inhibition telling him that it was a death sentence.

 

   Jesus, Ian was looking forward to that day.

 

   Now fully awake, Ian made his way to the bathroom to take a leak before checking his phone for why Mickey had disappeared so abruptly. He had a stream of texts from Mickey that made his heart drop to a place he couldn’t fathom.

 

   _Hey._

_Sorry I left, going 2 meet sanchez._

_I’m going 2 take care of it._

Ian didn't have to ask to figure out what that last statement meant. His heart constricted painfully at the thought of Mickey heading _towards_ Enzo instead of safely away from it. He had met Enzo. The memory of his deceitful charm and ugly mind was fresh in his own. Mickey being close to that, and in an adverse situation made him want to break something. And break down. Maybe both.

 

   He knew Mickey was probably busy.

 

   He called him any way.

 

   With every ring that he was left unanswered, his heart felt like it was falling further. Worry and fear filled him, tangible and heavy in his throat.

 

   The smart move would have been to sit there and wait. Ian wasn't a gangster, or a drug lord, or anything close. He had lost a lot of his Southside over the years too, though he would always deny that. He didn't have a gun, or any kind of weapon. He didn't know where the fuck Mickey was, or where the showdown was taking place. The smart move would be to endure in silence; worry, but from a distance.

 

   But when had a person in love ever been smart?

 

///

 

   Mickey had stormed into Sanchez’s room without knocking; making the older man look up in surprise. “Milo? What...” Mickey held up a hand to silence him.

 

   “I want to take him down. Today.”

 

   Sanchez opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “We should plan it, Milo. Did something happen? Why today?”

 

   “He threatened Ian. I want him _gone,”_ Mickey snapped, the remembrance of what had happened making him feel sick all over again. Sanchez’s face turned stormy. Mickey recognised it; he had seen that usually relaxed face turn dangerous before. “What do you mean?” Sanchez questioned. “He showed up to his fucking house. Yesterday. I want him _gone._ If you won’t help me, I’ll do it alone.”

 

   Mickey hadn’t meant for the last statement to sound like an ultimatum, but it had turned out that way. He watched as Sanchez considered. Logic dictated that they wait; plan and properly regroup. But Sanchez knew him well enough to know he wasn't incapable of going after Enzo alone. Plus, he had developed a paternal type of affection for the red haired overgrown puppy who made his quasi-son so happy.

 

   “Okay,” he stated simply.

 

   “Okay?”

 

   “Okay.”

 

///

 

 

   Ian hadn’t driven in what was a decidedly safe way to Mickey’s house. He had skipped red lights, sped up and honked at anyone who dared to block him. It was a small miracle that no one had pulled him over on his way.

 

   He was too late. By the time he reached, Mickey was gone and the house was abandoned, save for Ramirez, who opened the door with a gun in hand. Clearly, the Sanchez house was on high alert. “Ian?” Ramirez said, clearly confused. “Where’s Mickey?” Ian asked immediately, praying beyond hope that Mickey was still _inside_ and _safe._ Ramirez’s face grew clouded. “I’m sorry, man. He told me not to tell you if you came.” Ian’s expression grew thunderous because of _course_ Mickey had ensured Ian’s safety even as he walked into the lion’s den.

 

   He begged and pleaded and threatened but Ramirez didn't crack. He apologised over, and over, but eventually left Ian alone to sit in his car unmoving in despair. He sat there feeling bad for himself for a few moments, before looking up at the figure of Ramirez’s blue car in the distance. He thought about it for one precious second, before turning on his engine and following him.

 

   He hadn’t lost _all_ his Southside just yet.


	19. Love Got Me Still Dripping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a much awaited confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW IT'S BEEN AGES I'M SORRY  
> It's just been crazy, what with finals and results and my parents hovering :/  
> I didn't have the time to type out the whole climax because I really didn't want to compromise on the quality and I had no time! But I definitely wanted to give you guys something because you've been patient and supportive ily <3  
> chapter title from Who You Are by Blackbear ft. Prie (same song as last time but I'm hooooked)

   When Ian parked his car outside their destination, a safe distance away, he almost wanted to laugh. It was an abandoned warehouse. The setting was such a cliché; he would have appreciated the humour in it at any time other than this. He waited till Ramirez was inside and after a few slow heartbeats, followed his footsteps. Outside the side entrance of the building, he paused. What exactly was the plan? Just walk in? Ian had no gun, could offer no help and Mickey would be worrying about _him_ the entire time. But to leave him alone to face... whatever was going to happen was unfathomable to Ian. He had left Mickey alone in the face of too many situations in his life. He wasn't going to do that again. Ever.

 

    Despite the emotions flooding him, he knew that just storming in would be a stupid decision. He lingered at the entrance, unsure as to how to help the boy inside. He could hear the conversation taking place inside with chilling clarity, still unable to do anything to help.

 

//

 

   Inside, the atmosphere was tense as the Sanchez gang stood facing Enzo and his sidehands. Everyone was so tightly wound that gunshots would probably be flying if anyone so much as sneezed. Mickey could feel his palms sweating a little, the gun in his hand with the safety off dangerously close to slipping out of his clammy grip. He retightened it. “I think we’re all overreacting,” Enzo purred, raising placating hands in the air, “Why exactly are we all here in a clichéd Mexican showdown?” Mickey narrowed his eyes, stepping forward slightly. His mind called Ian’s face to mind; the fear in his face and his voice. He called back to the forefront of thought how it would feel if he was responsible for Enzo hurting him. “I _told_ you,” Mickey said in a voice that sounded low, dangerous, “I _told_ you to stay away from him.” His voice sounded unfamiliar to his own years. Mickey had spent his youth terrorising the streets of the Southside; but there he was a thuggish juvenile delinquent. Now he sounded like the kind of person who was part of a life of organised crime. He realised only then that he didn't want it; he didn't want to be a criminal anymore. He didn't want to be the person people crossed the street to avoid, or the one with a collection of guns at home.

 

   He wanted quiet. He wanted peace. He wanted family. He wanted it all with Ian.

 

   But first he had to release the rage that still saturated him at the thought of that quiet, the peace, that family being threatened by the piece of shit standing in front of him, completely unapologetic. The piece of shit who was now laughing lightly, “Who? Your little boyfriend?” Mickey felt his muscles tensing further, almost in slow motion. His teeth clenched and his knuckles whitened as he clutched the gun even harder. “Why have him, Mikhailo, when I could give you the world? You would give up a lifetime with me for one with a _child_ who works a 9 to 5 job, living in a shoebox apartment, who is famous for leaving you?” This time, Ramirez had to tightly grab Mickey’s arm to stop him from doing something stupid like clocking Enzo across the face. He could feel his nails digging into his palm. “I suggest you shut the fuck up about things you know nothing about.” Sanchez snapped sharply. “But I _do_ know. I’ve talked to that homophobic piece of Southside trash you call a father,” Mickey’s heart dropped, as it always did when Terry was mentioned. “I know all about your history with the _‘ginger fag’_ as he so nicely put it. I know all about the wife, the child, everything that happened to you in pri-“

 

   Mickey’s breath had been growing shallower and shallower with every word. At that last sentence, he snapped and brought his gun up to point it at Enzo’s head. His hand was shaking. He couldn’t breathe. He finger ran over the trigger, teasing it. There was fear in Enzo’s eyes; Mickey could see it behind his cool facade.

 

   He could have done it. He _would_ have done it. But then-

 

   “Mick, _don’t.”_

 

   Mickey snapped his head around praying, _praying_ he was hearing things. He wasn’t. There he was. Ian Gallagher. Loyal, protective, _stupid_ Ian Gallagher.

 

    His mind was chanting _no, no, no_ even as his heart calmed and felt safe for the first time since he got there. Ian Gallagher didn't belong there, in a warehouse, surrounded by guns and gangsters. Ian Gallagher didn't even belong in the Southside. Brightness like Ian Gallagher didn’t belong in the dark, seedy corners of the world Mickey always seemed to find himself in.

 

   “This isn’t you. He’s not worth it,” Ian drew closer, now right in front of him. Mickey’s mind called up the memory of chasing Frank down with a gun, but not being able to do it in the end. Mickey was a violent, morally questionable criminal, but he wasn't a murderer. He sighed a shaky breath, releasing it with a quiet, “What the fuck are you doing here, Gallagher?” Ian gave him a small grin despite the situation and it just made Mickey feel that crazy burst of affection it always did. “I’ve always wanted to be in a Mexican standoff,” the red haired boy joked lightly. Mickey rolled his eyes at the boy, before remembering the situation and the long list of reasons why Ian shouldn’t be there. He grew solemn. “You have to leave,” he whispered. Ian shook his head. “You have to go. This has nothing to do with you,” Mickey tried to bring through the fact that he was _pleading_ in hushed tones. Ian just shook his head again, saying, “ _Everything_ about you has to do with me.”

 

   Mickey couldn’t argue with that logic, mixed in with Ian’s stubbornness. So he just looked up to look at their mini audience. Enzo was smiling, making the boys’ skin crawl. “How sweet,” he commented, “Does he make you a better person, Mikhailo? Does he make you want to do better? Do you love him? With everything you have?” Mickey felt sick, hearing the way he felt about Ian being spelled out so clinically and _wrong_ by the sorry excuse for a man in front of them. Enzo walked closer, till he was right in front of Mickey’s face. Mickey wanted to move, he _would’ve_ moved, but it was like he was being held in his place. Enzo inclined his head slightly, so his lips were right next to Mickey’s ear. “I’m guessing you would die for him,” he whispered. The world seemed to freeze as Mickey heard the chilling sound of a gun’s safety being switched off. “But would he die for you?”

 

   Enzo pulled back suddenly, immediately pointing his gun towards the _one_ person Mickey could never survive losing. “ _No,_ ” he choked out. Enzo gave him a devious smile, “Not your choice, Mikhailo. But I wouldn’t worry too much. With his track record, I wouldn’t be so sure he would give his life up for you.” Mickey turned to look at Ian, eyes wild. All the other times Ian had let Mickey go had hurt it him, it had broken him down. This time, he was clinging to the hope that Ian would latch onto his survival instinct.

 

//

 

   But when Ian opened his mouth, it wasn’t the answer Mickey hoping, _praying_ for.

 

   “Of _course_ I would.”

 

   Time slowed. Enzo didn’t.

 

   Mickey had just caught his breath to let out a plea on Ian’s behalf when the man fired, hitting Ian square in the chest.


	20. I'm a Sinner, In a Church, Burning Up For You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end of a conflict, and the beginning of a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and FINALLY welcome to the end of the Enzo conflict and the beginning of a new chapter in the boys' lives, and this fic. Thank you so much for your continued support, and patience x
> 
> p.s- chapter title from 'girls like u' by blackbear

   Days blurred together in the life of humans. No matter how good or bad, twenty four hours had always passed quickly enough in Mickey’s life. But that day, _jesus,_ that day was one that passed like every minute was drawn out as an hour. He could remember every moment, every small event in, at times excruciating, detail. He remembered the exact shade of red that stained Ian’s shirt with alarming speed. He remembered drawing his own gun, pointing it at Enzo. He remembered turning off the safety and being sure, so sure, that there would be no more hesitation by way of killing.

 

   He _didn’t_ remember Sanchez snatching the gun, shooting the fatal bullet himself. When Mickey came back to himself, only a few moments had passed; slow and lazy, like they were wading through honey. He saw Enzo’s bloody body on the floor, but there was only one bloody body he had eyes for. Mickey tripped over himself while darting to Ian’s side, falling beside the other boy who lay, eyes closed, lips parted. Someone was screaming. Mickey wondered if it was him. Wounds and death didn’t work like they did in the movies. There was no drama, no last words, and no whispered confessions of love. There was only Ian, silent and cold. There was only Mickey, who wasn’t sure if the blood on his hands was Ian’s or coming from his own chest, ripped open with pain. “Go,” Sanchez had urged, “Get him to a hospital.” Mickey’s mind, numb, had taken a few seconds to understand him. “ _Go,_ ” Sanchez said again, this time punctuating his words with a little shove. Ramirez had bent to help Mickey carry Ian’s limp body out.

 

   Mickey knew he was moving. He could feel his feet walking; feel his arms straining under Ian’s weight. But it hadn’t hit him yet, the situation they were in. They got into the car. Ian’s long body lay on the backseat. Mickey checked his pulse on impulse. He felt bile stain his throat, but he managed to keep it down. Move, _move,_ his mind told him. He obeyed. Ramirez was saying something about not being able to come with, about having to help Sanchez with the body, about Mickey having to stay strong.

 

   Mickey nodded and nodded, even when Ramirez’s voice stopped being audible and dull ringing in his ears was all he could hear. Mickey drove to the hospital. It was all mechanical. He knew his hands were shaking, he knew he was speeding and breaking rules at every turn; knew that that could be deadly for them. He couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck.

 

    When they reached the hospital, they were crowded by people. People asking questions that Mickey tried his best to answer. He gave them Ian’s name, _his_ fake name, some bullshit story about a mugging gone wrong. They knocked into his body, and he moved as they instructed him to, like a puppet on strings. But when they were leaving to take Ian into surgery, they tried to separate their hands. It was only then that Mickey realised he was holding Ian’s wrist in a vice grip, hard enough to bruise if he hadn’t already lost so much blood. When they tried to get him to let go, he finally emerged from whatever dark place he had retreated into. He went full on primal, like the feral children he had seen in a documentary once. He yelled and cursed and clawed at the people taking him away from Ian. _Taking Ian away from him._

 

   The last thing he felt was a needle did into his skin, before blessed darkness took over.

 

///

 

   Being shot was a strange experience. Ian wasn’t sure he was a fan. He wondered how Mickey had gone through it so many times. Then he wondered about Mickey. Through the drug enduced haze, his mind longed for blue eyes, dark hair, soft lips. _Mickey?_ The question was meant to be out loud, but his tongue felt heavy and impossible to move. He tried getting up. Couldn’t. Finally, he settled on turning his head minutely.

_Bingo,_ he thought with a mental giggle that was slightly hysterical. Mickey was looking at his hands, scratching at something on his neck. He looked rumpled and sad and Ian wanted to fix it. He wanted to fix it all. Finally, after a heartbeat or two Mickey looked up. His eyes widened almost comically when he saw Ian was awake. “ _Ian,”_ he gasped out, as he stuck out a hand to press something next to the bed Ian couldn’t see. Probably to call the nurse. “Don’t go to sleep again. Don’t you dare go to sleep again.”

 

   Mickey was crying. Not very visibly or loudly. But Ian had a lot of practice of reading Mickey Milkovich. There was moisture on his cheeks and every now and then, he pressed the heel s of his hands to his eyes. His breaths seemed to be choking him. It made Ian’s heart ache just to look at him. He inched his fingers forward, blindly, not being able to see where his fingers were going. He felt his skin come in contact with Mickey’s calloused, familiar hands and he smiled lightly, trying to coax a similar one out of the other boy. Mickey didn't even seem to notice. He just kept his eyes carefully averted, buried his face in his hands, small intakes of air filling the air between them both. _Mick,_ Ian tried. “Mick,” he repeated, the words finally being spoken out loud. “Mick,” he tried yet again. This time Mickey looked up.

 

   The blue eyes were glossed over and it made Ian’s heart stutter a little bit. Mickey should never look like that, he decided, he should never look like that again. “I’m sorry,” Mickey said, picking Ian’s weak hand up too kiss his knuckles, one by one. “This is all my fault,” Mickey cried, “You should have never been there. I _knew_ this would happen. You should’ve never been with me, Gallagher.”

 

   That sounded too much like goodbye and regret and heartbreak for Ian, who swallowed dryly and attempted to sit up. Just as he did so, a nurse walked in, tutting immediately at his movements. “Honey, that is _not_ a good idea for you yet.” She tried to lay him down, “Are you thirsty?” Ian nodded slightly, accepting the cup full of water with a straw. When the nurse was satisfied, she turned to Mickey. “How long has he been awake?” she asked, to which he replied by saying, “I pressed the button the moment he did.” She nodded, happy with this response, turning back to Ian. “Ian, you were shot in a mugging. Mikhailo here brought you to the hospital, thankfully just in time. I hear you’re an EMT, so you don’t have to be briefed on how serious chest wounds can get. Thankfully, it was a clean shot and missed all your important parts. You should consider yourself really lucky young man.” Ian nodded a long, briefly thrown by the idea of him getting shot in the chest. Was the pain originating from there? He ached all over.

 

   Mickey seemed to have shrunken in on himself, and after the nurse left once she had checked his vitals and made him promise to call if he needed anything, Ian turned his attention to him. “You fuckin’ _idiot,”_ Mickey said exasperatedly, before moving forward as if drawn unconsciously to kiss Ian’s face all over; his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. Ian just lay there, wondering if there would ever come a day when a kiss from the Milkovich boy would draw less of a reaction from him and his body. He hoped not.

 

///

 

  Drawing back, Mickey said simply, seriously, “I’m done.”

 

  Ian flinched. “ _What?_ You... you can’t!”

 

  Mickey looked confused. “Why the fuck are you so upset?”

 

   “What do you mean?! Of course I’m upset. I love you. I don’t want this to be done.”

 

   Comprehension dawned on Mickey’s face, and he leaned forward to press his lips against Ian’s yet again. “I ain’t done with you, firecrotch. I’m done with this. This life. I don’t want to be scared someone a deal went wrong with is going to hurt. I don’t want to be a criminal anymore. I... I’m fucking tired, Ian.” Ian could barely contain his smile. Mickey was finally going to move past the trappings his childhood had set for him. It was all Ian had ever wanted for the man he loved. “How?” he asked simply. Mickey’s face looked serious and drawn.

 

   “I have to go back.”


	21. You Need To Come Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward and one step back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE YOU GO I'M SORRY I SUCK.
> 
> But some really crazy shit happens in this chapter but all good don't worry. I owe y'all some fluff :)
> 
> Enjoy xx

It was a week before Ian was let out of the hospital. It would have probably been better for him to stay a little longer, but at Ian’s insistence, and reminders that he knew exactly how to take care of wounds like his, they discharged him exactly a week after his surgery. Ian didn't want to stay longer, even if it was safer for him. But at the same time, part of him wanted to stay there forever, if only it meant their life in Mexico lasting a little longer. Ian had woken up a day after his surgery; which meant it had been six since Mickey’s quiet insistence that he wanted to go back. At first, Ian hadn’t understood. Go back? Where? He soon figured that it could only mean two things; back to prison, or back to Chicago. Judging by Mickey’s experiences in prison, Ian knew better than to assume it was the first option. So Mickey had to mean going back to Chicago.

It turned out Mandy had been communicating with Mickey ever since he had arrived in Mexico, after she had left him the number for her escort company. He would call, posing as a potential customer for her, and then leave her with a number to contact him on; a new one every time. They were careful, covering their tracks, and they managed it even though it was hard. Ian felt like his breathing was being restricted every time he thought of the fact that Mandy had known. That all this time, of wanting and missing and worrying, Mandy would have been able to connect him to Mickey anytime. But judging by Mickey’s feelings towards him when they had first reconnected, Ian wasn't sure Mandy would have been very forthcoming about that information. She would have protected Mickey from him, even if Ian had been her best friend. As it turned out, Mandy hadn’t given up on Mickey’s just yet. Having her brother be a fugitive for running away from pure torture? She wasn’t just going to accept that. She had latched onto her loyal lawyer customer, and talked through Mickey’s case with a dozen attorney’s using hypothetical’s and what-if’s even though they all knew she knew exactly how to reach Mickey. Right before Ian and Mickey had crashed together again, Mandy had told Mickey that they had come to the conclusion that he could probably get off with a month or two in a halfway home if they fought the case right and got him to testify against Terry.

Mickey had refused. It made Ian feel sick, the same way Mickey had felt; at the idea of Mickey having to talk about what happened to him in front of an unfeeling crowd of strangers. But now, with Mickey’s abrupt realisation that a life of crime was no longer for him, he had decided to take Mandy up on it. Of course, of course, Ian would go back with him. Ian wondered why he wasn’t more excited to go back ‘home’.

Their home was here; it was a life they had built together, even if it was little messy and a little crumbly. God knows it hadn’t been all good. Enzo had fucking made sure of that. But it had been worth it. They had made it to the beach, they had seen the stars, they got pine candles. It was everything they had dreamed of and doubted they would ever get. The thought of Mickey testifying kind of made Ian want to punch something. The thought of watching Mickey get dragged away in cuffs, even if he would be back soon, made him choke up more than anything else. Ian wasn’t used to being without his lover anymore. He wasn't used to living around a gaping hole in his heart anymore.

But if Mickey needed this, he would do anything. He would try and put on a brave face as he watched Mickey break the news to his Mexican familia, as they called themselves. He submitted his resignation, and moved into the Sanchez home when the government wasn’t housing him anymore. He and Mickey packed up their stuff, trying to fit their short lived, but beautiful piece of bliss into cardboard boxes to take home alongside everything else. Lili cried, and cursed Mickey out for leaving her to complete her G.E.D. alone. Ramirez sniffed in a manly way, but his eyes glistened when Mickey handed him all his favourite guns. Sanchez, a man beyond stereotypes and the need to prove how much of a man he was, wept openly when he found out. Ian watched as their family lost a piece of them as Mickey left. Ian could sympathise with them. He had lived with a Mickey shaped hole in his life for far too long as well.

They went down to register Mickey’s beautiful car in Ian’s name instead, figuring they had less of a chance of losing it that way. Mickey was far too attached to that car for it to be healthy. Ian had a slight suspicion he had named it, but no matter how much he coerced Mickey, he could never get him to give the name up.

It was all hard and achy and sad, but when Ian reminded himself that he was going to be with Mickey, it didn’t seem all that bad.

//

The day before they left was an eventful one. It started off slow, with a sappy cake and baggie of weed that Ian decided to allow himself to have two puffs of. Man, Lili could roll a damn good joint. It reminded him so much of teenage Mandy that he had to look at her a couple times to see her features again. It had continued to be slow too; just all of them enjoying their established quiet one more day before everything went to shit.

Okay, maybe the day hadn’t been that eventful. But the night sure as hell was.

Ian had been lying in their bedroom, waiting for Mickey to return from his conference with Sanchez. This happened every now and then; hushed conversations between the two in the Sanchez’s office. Mickey usually gave him the minutes when he returned; and when he didn’t, Ian didn't ask. He had long made his peace with the fact that Mickey wasn't going to tell him everything about his job, that he was doing that to keep Ian safe. Keeping the person you love safe by all means necessary; that was something Ian Gallagher could understand.

Suddenly, he had heard raised voices coming from downstairs. Lili and Ramirez had gone to sleep on Mickey’s request; ready to get up bright and early to say bye when they left. Ian knew it had to be Sanchez and Mickey having the loud argument. He also knew it was probably none of his business. But Ian and Mickey had been through a lot recently; and Ian had heard a lot of pretty terrible things about Mickey’s life in Mexico too. So maybe hearing loud voices from where Mickey was put him a little on edge. Fucking sue him.

He decided to clamber downstairs, just for a little peak to himself some peace of mind. By the time he reached Sanchez’s office, however, the voices had quietened. The door was open; spilling pale yellow light into the inky darkness of the house. Despite his conscience screaming don’t be an eavesdropping bitch at him, he peeked in. “-this is going to be hard enough without this, Sanchez,” Mickey was saying, but his tone was resigned, like he had already lost whatever argument this was. “I know, Milo, and I’m sorry to ask you this. I’ve created all the papers, even in your real name, but if you don’t want this, I can undo them just as easily,” Sanchez replied, continuing, “It’s a lot to ask. I gave Lili and Carlos the best life I could given my situation. And they’ve grown up to be beautiful people. But it’s not the best life to encourage another into.” Mickey sighed, but when he spoke again, his tone was saturated with affection Ian couldn’t quite understand the reason for. “I’ll do it. But Ian- it’s his choice. I’m not pushing him into something he ain’t ready for. I know you put his name on the papers, but you can change that, right?”

Now Ian was just fucking confused. What did he have to do with this? He convinced himself he was entitled to take part in a conversation regarding him, so he stepped into the room, revealing himself. “Mick?” he asked simply, making the other boy turn around in surprise.

Now it was Ian’s turn to be surprised. In Mickey’s arms was a bundle. But it wasn’t just a bundle. In the bundle, there was tiny little human, with light brown skin and blue eyes and a toothless smile.

Then something happened that had only happened to Ian Gallagher once before.

He fell in love.

///

The baby’s name was Theo. His name was Theo and he was perfect.

When Ian and Mickey left for the border the next day, it wasn’t just as a runaway couple as they had thought. It was as officially the adoptive parents of a little baby boy whose parents had died in a gang-related shootout and had left their child in Sanchez’s care. And now he was in their care. Ian wasn’t a hundred percent sure being the partner of a wrongfully incarcerated man and a baby born into a family of drug lords was the easiest family to build a home with.

But he was a hundred percent sure it would be worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay soo I know it's probably super unrealistic that Theo is legally theirs but LET THEM BE HAPPY GEEZ


	22. Never Thought a Sunrise Could Burn More Than a Midnight Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> on their way to Chicago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go guys!!
> 
> This is mostly just the boys' thoughts and fears about their futures but it's SOMETHING right?? lmao I'm sorry I suck guys
> 
> I love you xx
> 
> Chapter title from Reforget- Lauv

   Mickey had known, the moment he had formulated the plan in his mind, that what they were about to do was going to be daunting. It was dangerous and reckless and it might end with him back at the one place even he had not been able to stand.

 

   He had never expected to be nervous about a baby. _Their baby?_

   Ian seemed to already think so. Mickey watched him now, curled up in the passenger’s side with Theo pulled lightly against his chest. The baby was sleeping, tired out, having cried for ten minutes straight before that. Mickey felt like he already knew that tiny human beside him; his blue eyes, fuzzy black mop of hair. Like he had known him for his whole life and not just a few hours. Well, the baby’s whole life hadn’t been much more than that. According to the birth certificate Mickey had pored over in Sanchez’s office, he was three months, twelve days and a couple months old. Now, his life was in their hands. His and Ian’s.

 

   Mickey wasn't sure how to feel about that. Yes, he loved Ian and some part of him had always expected that they would eventually have a kid together. Old Mickey would have firmly denied it, but when Vee and Kev would leave their kids with Ian for a couple hours and Mickey would inevitably be there with him, handling those little girls with him hadn’t been _all_ bad. And they had had a little family of their own with Yev for a little while there. Ian had always seemed like he was born to be a father, to hold a kid in his arms and shelter them. Mickey hadn’t initially been convinced of his own prowess as a parental figure, but Ian had showed him that he could be one, if only he tried. Ian had built him into some semblance of a father, piece by piece, in those few months.

 

   In theory this was great, a fresh start for them, with all the pieces of a happy family already in place. But. _But._ Even though he had learned to trust Ian again, he could remember how it had felt to be left alone by him. And hearing those words, _‘this isn’t me anymore’._ Mickey understood now, more than he had before. He understood that Ian hadn’t been ready to give up his newfound stability. Mickey was just worried that one day he would realise _this_ wasn't him anymore. Mickey didn't want him to feel like he was trapped by this; by Mickey and the kid- _Theo._

 

   Suddenly, a hand touched Mickey’s cheek lightly, making him start. He turned his head to find Ian looking up at him, tracing the back of his hand against Mickey’s cheekbones, reaching out a finger to smoothen out the pensive lines on his forehead. “Stop worrying,” he whispered, voice laced with sleep.

 

   Mickey didn't know exactly how to tell him that what was worrying him wasn't what he expected. So with typical Milkovich elegance, he just asked, “You sure you want this?”  Now, it was Ian’s forehead that furrowed. Mickey felt the need to explain further. “I mean... not just _me._ But the kid. I mean, I asked Sanchez. He said it wouldn’t be hard to take your name off the papers.”

 

   Now a touch of hurt reflected in Ian’s eyes. “Do _you_ not want this with me?” He asked, raising his voice ever so slightly and turning the question around towards Mickey, “Cause I told you, Mick, I’ve told you a million times this is all I want. If you can’t trust me then I just...” Mickey could hear Ian’s voice getting hitched, higher pitched. He knew from years of experience that this was Ian’s voice when he was close to tears. So he reached out a hand to touch Ian’s, still lying slightly against his cheek. “I _do,”_ he insisted, “I do trust you. I just- don’t want you to feel... _trapped_ by this. I know that last time we had to take care of a kid together, it didn't really work. Or at all.” Ian’s face relaxed a little at the realisation that this wasn't a statement on Ian being a flight risk.

 

   “We were kids then, Mick. We were kids and I think we tried playing adults before we could. But you know that, Jesus, I fucking loved what we had. You and me together, with a kid. But with the bipolar and all the crazy shit I was doing, it was too much. _This_ time, s’all going to be different. You and me, Mickey.” There was an underlying promise in Ian’s words. Ian was talking forever; talking pine candles. Mickey decided to believe him, because it was Ian and Mickey would give every part of himself to be with him any way he could.

 

   So after a few beats of meditative silence, they climbed out of the car to exchange places. Ian handed Theo over and leaned over to kiss Mickey lightly, before taking over the driving for a few hours so Mickey could rest. Mickey got comfortable on the seat already warmed by Ian’s body heat and cradled the baby, brushing a stray lock of his hair off his tiny face. His head expanded slightly with fondness, before sleep took over.

 

 

///

 

 

    Ian drove, the darkness and shadows of the night around him flooding over him. When he had been a child, he had been scared of the dark; not that that was of much note in the Southside. Ian’s neighbourhood wasn't the kind with nightlights and having prolonged childhood fears. Still, he had been terrified of monsters under his bed and ghosts in his closet.

 

    Now, it was the morning and the dawn touching the sky that scared him the most.

 

   Morning meant it was finally over; his and Mickey’s sojourn into a fantasyland of their own. A new day had begun; their dream was ending now. Now they would land _hard,_ back into the harshness of human reality. Mickey would be tried, and perhaps imprisoned. He would be taken from Ian soon enough, whether they were caught at the border or back in Chicago. It scared Ian, the kind of chill that froze his blood in his veins. He knew that Mandy and her pay-per-day boyfriend were optimistic about Mickey’s chances of getting off lightly, but fear still flooded Ian.

 

   Hands shaking, he pulled over. It reminded him of that first day; when he had pulled over because Mickey had as good as told him he never wanted him again. This pain was different, but nearly as overwhelming. Losing Mickey then had meant torture, but the kind that he had grown accustomed to in the last three years. Now, Ian was out of practice. He wasn't used to living without Mickey. Even if they got lucky, it would be naive to imagine Mickey would get off completely free. Even if it was just weeks, they would definitely be apart for that long. And Ian wasn't as good at being without Mickey as he once had been.

 

   He looked over at Mickey fondly now, smiling lightly at the way he seemed to protect Theo’s tiny body with his own. They hadn’t had the opportunity to get a car seat for the baby, something that they, as yet unaccustomed to having a child under their care, had had minor freak outs about. Finally, they had come to the conclusion that with slow, careful driving, Theo should be fine. Maybe the decision to drive slowly had been more for their sake than Theo’s.

 

///

 

   Ian loved the picture they painted. A small family unit just for them.

 

   He wanted to stay there, in that moment, forever.

 

    But he couldn’t.

 

   Morning had broken. It was time to go.


	23. Holding On, and Letting Go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossing over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii :)
> 
> long time no update my friends, I'm sorry, twelfth grade is kicking my butt
> 
> soo here we are!
> 
> TW for mentions of rape and suicidal ideation (no mention of the word itself)
> 
> title is from a song of the same name, but I cannot, for the life of me remember the artist

 

    When Mickey awoke, the car was unmoving. Ian sat at the wheel, seemingly in deep, deep thought, somewhere Mickey felt he couldn’t follow. “Gallagher?” he asked in a croaky, sleep heavy voice, using the last name that had become a term of endearment; the only term of endearment he could offer Ian for a very long time. Ian immediately looked at him, turning his head so quickly, his neck cracked slightly. Ian’s eyes were wide, guilty. Mickey wondered why. “We stop for gas?” he tried again, trying to draw a response out of this strange, jumpy version of Ian. “Er...” Ian began, “No. It’s just... we’re half an hour away. We have to get ready. I just.... I wanted to...” he trailed off, clearly unable to find the right way to express what he was feeling. Mickey could relate. Their journey to the border had been full of such awkward stops and gaps; moments of silence where one or the other would stare pensively out of the car, completely still.

 

    Mickey understood why Ian had stopped, even if Ian himself wasn't so sure. Reaching the border meant going to Chicago, the end of their whimsical life in Mexico. It was a sad moment, but Mickey hoped that Mandy’s guy would be right, and it could also be the start of something new for them. Here, all Mickey could do to offer his lover comfort was an idle hand resting on the Ian’s, a silent but sure sign of support no matter what was to come. Ian turned yet again, and his green eyes glinted suspiciously in the dark. Reeling his emotions in, Ian held off the onslaught of tears and snatched away from Mickey’s grasp. “You have to get ready,” he said, sounding unpleasant and rough to his own ears, hoping Mickey would understand that none of the negativity was directed towards him. Mickey just nodded and stepped out of the car, placing the still sleeping Theo on the empty backseat of the car.

 

    The baby had woken up multiple times, for food, to change his diaper, to just _cry,_ and the boys were running low on sleep, with the added loss of cigarettes and sex. Ian fondly recalled his first trip to the border with Mickey; kicking Damon out of the car every now and then just to lie in the back and make out with the man he had never thought he would see until over a decade later. When Ian reflected on those few golden days, he wondered why he had never questioned the lack of real sex. Ian and Mickey had always been the type to fight, and then rip each other’s clothes off with equal enthusiasm. There had been handjobs, blowjobs; everything except for the act itself. He knew now that Mickey had still been healing, broken down from everything that happened to him in the prison. It broke Ian’s heart to realise that Mickey hadn’t trusted him enough then to let him know. It just hurt more that only two days later, Ian proved exactly _why_ he hadn’t deserved that trust.

 

    Heart constricting, Ian looked over at Mickey now, sharply grabbing their bags from the back of the car to look for his disguise. There was annoyance, and sharp thorns in the air between them. They were snapping at each other, and Mickey was hesitating around him; no doubt the trip reminded him too much of their first one together which had ended with him alone and broken hearted. But awash with memories; and the idea of Mickey hurting, made a protective urge well up in him that he couldn’t resist. As if the air had become a tide that pushed him towards the other man, Ian leaned forward until they were standing chest to chest, face to face. Mickey tilted his head up in that way that always made Ian’s heart swell (god, he loved their height difference) and Ian stroked an idle thumb across Mickey’s face. Mickey’s face turned downwards, nuzzling into Ian’s palm like the puppy that he was. Ian felt a bit of moisture under his fingers, but he didn't comment on it. He just held Mickey and kissed his head, leaving his lips there, until Theo once again summoned them with his cries.

 

///

 

    Ian couldn’t stop laughing, grinning ear to ear. Theo was actually giggling in his arms as well, trickling streams of childish laughter that made Mickey smile even as he muttered, “Traitor,” to the overjoyed baby. Mickey had, thankfully, not been required to dress as a woman this time around, seeing as his work with Sanchez had assured him flawless forged papers. However, he did have a ridiculous looking moustache on his face, as facial hair was the quickest and easiest way to change one’s appearance. It had been three years since Mickey’s breakout, and his reduced sentence and the time that had passed since made it likely that the border wouldn’t have flagged him down even if he had gone as he was. But Ian’s hyperventilation and Sanchez’s much more calmly delivered advice had convinced to make this small nod towards a disguise.

 

    Mickey’s eyes traced over the two standing in front of him, savouring this moment; perhaps the last sweet one they would share for a while. Mickey wished, more than anything, that they could have been just like any other family; guys with steady jobs and their adoptive kid. Instead, while Ian and Theo fit into that picture, Mickey didn't; not just yet. He wouldn’t be going home to a welcome, but officers and prison and court and everything that had only ever led to bad things for him. Except for that last time, when his sentence had been reduced. But that was also when he had been shifted to the lower security area where Terry had... where _everything_ had happened. Even if it was just for a few months... Mickey wasn't sure he could take the sight of the four gray walls, the feeling of being constantly trapped and controlled except when you needed to be. There was no protection for Mickey in prison; no one would put their ass on the line for a guy with a man’s name tattooed over his heart. But Mickey had quickly made it clear this being gay didn't touch his capacity for causing harm. Until Terry Milkovich had arrived, and he had been reduced to the pathetic _object_ he had worked so hard to prove he wasn't.

 

   Mickey didn't remember much about those nights; about the drugs Terry would hand over to him that made a haze fall over everything. Initially, he had resisted, having to be force fed the drugs and puking them out when he could. Soon after, he discovered that it was all much worse if he was alert for it all. So he swallowed the white pills down obediently, not questioning how much they were affecting his body or their side effects, just the high they provided; the same attitude he had taken towards drugs and alcohol when he had first arrived in Mexico. He thought maybe he had seen a few familiar faces above his own through the trance; people he had threatened or hurt, taking their revenge in the worst way. When he would wake up and spend the early hours in the bathroom, puking his guts out, he wasn't sure if it was because of the pills, or because of what had happened while he was on them.

 

   He didn't want it all, not again. He wouldn’t survive it this time. He had considered it; that unspoken escape a handmade shiv, or curtains tied to the ceiling would provide. No one needed him, really, or missed him. Mandy was his sole visitor, and she was finding a life of her own, something he was proud of her for doing. She would survive losing him. But it was that Milkovich fighting spirit; that survival instinct drilled into him that stopped him from ever seriously considering it. Hearing Ian talk about his own brush with dark thoughts like this made him glad they had both overcome their own demons. Maybe they were still messy, but they weren’t chaotic anymore. They were slowly fixing themselves, and maybe helping each other through it too.

 

    Ian caught sight of Mickey’s expression, and the sweet moment was broken, much to Mickey’s regret. He sidled up to the other man- now bordering at panic- burrowing his lips against his shoulder with a muttered, “You okay?” Mickey nodded, and then realised Ian couldn’t see him. When he spoke, he decided to go with a more honest response, “I’m fuckin’ scared out of my mind.” Ian’s hand, the one that wasn't balancing Theo, drew up to rub his upper back soothingly.  He kissed the furrow of Mickey’s neck idly, replying with a soft, “Me too.” Suddenly, he pulled away, and Mickey right side felt cold at the loss of his warmth. When he saw Ian’s face, though, and the smile on it, all that warmth returned to him all at once. Ian nosed at Theo’s little, chubby cheek, making the little baby smile again. “But it’s going to be good, right Theo? We’re all going to be fine; you, me and your dad.”

 

    Ian suddenly looked up with wide eyes, as if just realising what he had said. _Dad._ They hadn’t talked about it; what they would be to Theo. So he had drawn the obvious conclusion; that they would be his parents. Mickey froze up for the tiniest moment, before relaxing and concluding that yes, he wanted that; all of it. He walked forward slightly, stroked Theo’s cheek with his huge-ass thumb. Theo; this little person that was so _small_ and _good_ and _theirs._ “I like that,” Mickey confirmed with a cheeky grin and Ian let out an audible sigh of relief. Then he leaned forward slightly, so their bodies formed a type of canopy over Theo’s head, sheltering him, like they always would.

 

///

 

    When they reached the line of cars leading up to border security, it seemed everyone in the car was holding their breath. Well, maybe just Ian and Mickey, seeing as Theo remained completely oblivious and carefree. They had actually scraped together a bunch of cash and bought a car seat along the way, hoping that would make them appear like responsible parents. They were already going to have enough trouble with the authorities; they didn't need CPS on their asses too. Ian’s hands on the steering wheel were shaking ever so slightly, even as he willed them to stop. Mickey stared forward, eyes wide and just shy of panic. The line drew closer and closer to the checkpoint, till they were just one car away. Ian looked at Mickey, and touched his hand tentatively. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, hoping he sounded more convinced than he felt, “I love you.” _That,_ Mickey was sure of. Maybe the only thing he was sure of. “Fuck you, Gallagher,” he grinned. It was as ghetto as a confession of love could get. And the truest.

 

    The car in front of them moved, and Ian pulled into their place, rolling their windows down. Despite their fears, the checking was pretty straightforward. Their car was carefully free of anything illegal, not even a gram of weed; owing to both this checking and their fresh start away from anything and everything illegal. The guards asked for Ian Gallagher and Mikhailo Fisher’s passports, their reasons for travelling. Then they got distracted by the little baby in their backseat, cooing adoringly when they heard about their cover story of travelling to Mexico to pick up their adoptive baby. Mickey guessed they didn't get many heart warming stories in these parts; what with illegal immigrants, drug mules and gang wars. Being white seemed to make everything easier; they would have been much more careful if it had been a Mexican family travelling. That affronted Mickey, when he thought of all the great people he had met in Mexico, and his family there. But he was glad for the advantage.

 

///

 

   Soon enough, they were being waved through the border, as the guards waved at Theo, who just looked at them with a (Ian swore) knowing smile.

 

 

    Then he and Mickey let out those breaths they had been holding, with Mickey hooting loudly. Ian pulled over and hugged him, before Mickey pulled him down and kissed him so hard he may have gone blind.

 

    A quick diaper change, and then they were on their way, not just towards Chicago, but a new start for them.


	24. Just Like It Used To Be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> back home ft. the Gallaghers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN UPDATE WOW WHAT A RARE EVENT
> 
> I'm sorry, really. I dumped a bunch of fluff into this to make up for it.
> 
> I love y'all x
> 
> (Chapter title from Come Talk To Me by Peter Gabriel. Listen to the live version. AMAZE.)

   The journey _home_ wards was relatively uneventful. The car drove steady and slow; the whole drive was relaxed and reminded Ian of all the good parts of their journey on the same paths years earlier. Soon enough, they found themselves on the outskirts of their old town. If Mickey began driving like an eighty year old man, no one bothered pointing it out. Ian stayed silent, as did Theo.

 

   Theo was a good kid. Kind of reminded Ian of Yevgeny as he had once been; quiet and observant; only crying when his child’s world was deeply affected by problems such as hunger, thirst and dirty diapers. Ian’s chest ached with nostalgia at the memory of Yev and the life they had had together. Ian had given that life up, much to his later regret, and he hadn’t tried to continue his relationship with Yev after Mickey was locked up either. He had shut out anything and everything that involved his actions when he was unmedicated and out of control. Too late, he had realised that he was pretty lucky; he had found a lifetime’s worth of love early in his life. In trying to lose those memories, he had managed to lose all that love too.  He winced as he recalled himself saying, _Svetlana paid me._ After Mickey had tattooed his name on his skin, smiled at Ian the way he always had before, Ian had said _that_ to him?

 

    Guilt washed over him, as he turned to look at the man sitting with him now; the man who had forgiven him _for_ it all, _despite_ it all. “Hey, Mick?” he beckoned in quiet, small voice, just as they passed the last good house before the _real_ Southside began. Mickey slowed down further, if that was even possible, and looked at Ian out of the corner of his eye, letting out a sound of acknowledgement. “I’m sorry,” Ian said, horrified to hear that his voice was choked up. Mickey slowed further, which this time just led to them coming to a stop. “For what?” Mickey asked, and his voice was so apprehensive and scared and Ian realised that this moment was probably echoing that last one before the border and no _wonder_ Mickey was scared. He rested his hand on Mickey’s, hoping to reassure him. “Just... I was so mean.”

 

    Ian’s last word was a whisper, and he couldn’t bring himself to express his feelings in a more mature way. The childish word _mean_ was all that found his mouth in that moment. “Yeah,” Mickey agreed, “You were a fucking dick. But s’okay. I love you anyway.” Ian's heart constricted in his chest. There had been a role reversal in the past couple of months. Before, it had been Mickey who had confessed his love, over and over again. But now, Ian was the one who said it all the time. In the morning, when they woke up, when they made love, when they were just _together,_ while Mickey had been slightly hesitant about returning the words. The question of whether or not Mickey loved him was never the problem. That was a well established fact. But Mickey had confided to Ian that saying those words had never led to anything good for him, and he didn't want to jinx it. Ian was unequivocally happy that Mickey had found enough faith in himself, Ian, and their relationship, that he was no longer afraid.

 

 

///

 

 

    Arriving at their old street, a conflict arose. Not between them, but one they had to decide upon together. It was still light outside, and there were kids playing on the street. Hopscotch and skipping rope like ‘normal’ kids, but slightly rougher, as all things were in the Southside. Everything was so familiar, it made Mickey’s chest hurt. Here was the place he had grown up, where he had seen horror and pain, but also love and family. Here was the place, and the man, that he had never thought would be within his reach again. Theo gurgled with joy from where he was sitting in Mickey’s lap, taking a break from his car seat now that they were, once again, at a standstill. A little boy poked at their window, making the baby grin, before Mickey chased him off with a scowl.

 

   The plan had been decided. They would reach Chicago, and Mickey would turn himself in at the police station. But now that they were here, now that they had reached the final lap, they were hesitating. Ian looked wrecked at the thought of Mickey being arrested and taken away, and Mickey wasn't far behind. The atmosphere was tense and sad and heavy, only occasionally broken by the murmurs of the kid that was completely innocent and oblivious. Mickey wished he could go back to the uncomplicated innocence of childhood, just for a moment’s rest. But then he remembered his childhood; watching his father break Iggy’s arm when he was just three, and realised he had never been that innocent. He made a silent promise to make sure that when Theo thought of _his_ childhood, it wouldn’t be like Mickey’s; a series of bad memories, juxtaposed with pain.

 

    “We could just... the Gallagher house,” Ian suggested. He was missing a few words, but Mickey knew exactly what he meant. Mickey considered saying no, refusing to visit the house full of people who had abandoned Ian at every turn and left him to face everything alone. In good times, Gallaghers stuck by him, but in the bad times, all they had done was give him up and let him go. Who knew, maybe that was the most practical plan of action at the time, but Mickey Milkovich never loved in a practical way. It was all, or nothing. It was him tearing his world apart, and doing anything necessary, to protect those he loved.

 

   Mickey had expressed the above sentiments to Ian once or twice, both before and after their nearly four year separation. Every time, Ian had rolled his eyes, and defended his siblings. Mickey didn't quite agree, but he didn't fight it. This time, too, Mickey reminded himself that this was Ian’s _family_ and he hadn’t seen them in a while and probably missed them. So he nodded, somewhat hesitantly, though he was less than looking forward to the inevitable judgemental looks he would get from the oldest siblings as an on the run fugitive. Mickey Milkovich, living up to the expectation Ian’s eldest siblings had always had for him. Mickey Milkovich, who had attempted to kill Sammy for hurting Ian, and ran because every day living in the prison had made him want to die. Yet, the world only saw the _attempted to kill_ and _ran._

 

    Still, he had stayed silent as he drove down the familiar roads that led to the Gallagher house. He wondered how they would react to Theo, who was now safely tucked into the car seat again. Probably talk right through Mickey about how unsuitable he was to be a father. Okay, maybe he was a _little_ insecure, but who could blame him? He felt like a Southside thug going to pick up a Northside preacher’s daughter. When he finally pulled up in front of the familiar house, he took a few breaths to steel himself. Ian could probably see the blatant nervousness on his face, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay Mick. You and me, ‘kay? You, me and Theo,” the redhead grinned at that last statement slightly, clearly overjoyed at their little domestic family unit. Mickey didn't say anything, but nodded slightly, then clambered out of the car and picked up Theo, tucking the tiny kid into his arms.  His heart swelled slightly with affection when the kid reached up to touch his travel-stubbled face.

 

    Ian took the lead, walking slightly ahead, presumably because the Gallagher’s would have heart attacks if they saw Mickey Milkovich on their front porch with a kid in his arms. Mickey snorted lightly at the thought and shook his head when Ian looked at him questioningly. He wasn't sure how happy Ian would be that Mickey was laughing at the idea of his elder siblings having heart attacks, even just comical ones. Ian took a deep breath too when he rang the bell, and Mickey stroked his arm once, lightly, just before the door opened.

 

    Just his luck. It was that fucking weird ass douchebag Lip. Presumably his smarts hadn’t gotten him out of the Southside yet, held back by his drinking according to Ian. “Ian!” Lip exclaimed (looking a little tipsy, smelling like a brewery), “What the fuck, man!” He darted forward to hug Ian lightly, Ian who was smiling widely.

 

    When Lip’s eyes fell on Mickey, and Theo over Ian’s shoulder, his expression looked a lot like Mickey had imagined just moments ago. It wasn't as funny as he had hoped.

 

 

///

 

 

   Ian was tossing sympathetic looks Mickey’s way when his lover was shoved onto the family couch, baby snatched from his hands and replaced by a bottle of beer instead. Theo had been captured by Debbie, who was apparently trying to force him to socialise with Frannie. The baby looked slightly overwhelmed, imitating Mickey's expression. Jesus, they already seemed like father and so- _no,_ Ian reminded himself, _focus. Don’t think of Mickey singing Theo to sleep. Don’t think of sleeping with Theo between them when he had a nightmare. Don’t think of Mickey getting teary eyed on his first day of school._

    “Ian!” he heard someone snap, and broke out of his reverie, realising Fiona was looking at him firmly. “Yeah,” he said weakly, trying to pretend he wasn't fanaticising about his future family life. “Why don’t you start explaining now,” she suggested, in a voice that told him she wasn't _suggesting_ at all. “Uh,” Ian began, “I met Mick in Mexico. We’re together again. He’s going to turn himself in, and we’re gonna fight his case and get him acquitted.” He was pretty proud of himself for that concise summation. Fiona looked less than impressed. Lip seemed to be drowning his confusion in whiskey. Carl was the only one who looked completely unaffected. Well, as did Liam, but he didn't react to much anyway. “And the kid?” Fiona asked sharply. “ _Our_ kid,” Mickey said, speaking up for the first time. Ian sent him a small smile.

 

   “ _Your_ kid? The fuck is that supposed to mean? You’re twenty three years old, Ian. You don’t need a fucking kid right now!” Lip drawled. Something inside Ian snapped. Maybe because he could hear that constant condescension in Lip’s voice, the fact that he just referred to Theo as a ‘fucking kid’ or that he was ruining Ian's fondest daydreams with his crass words. He stood up abruptly, and glared at his brother. “Jesus, just shut the fuck up, Lip! You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do while you live your life drunk off your ass! His name is _Theo,_ not _fucking kid_ and he’s mine and he’s Mickey’s and if you don’t like that, we can leave here _right now.”_ The threat in his voice was far from subtle. It was loud and clear and instantly sent Fiona towards damage control. “Okay, everyone, let’s just calm down. Aren’t you hungry? I’m hungry,” she announced, before herding them all towards the table.

 

    She served them all cold pizza that looked like cardboard and was barely touched by anyone, including her, despite her claim of being hungry. Only after there had been total silence for a little while did she break it. “Look, we’re just surprised. We weren’t even expecting _you_ back, let alone with Mickey and a kid,” she hesitated before adding, “Your kid. Theo. And even though I’m not sure this is safe, and it’s not going to be easy, we’re here for you. You look happy, Ian; a lot more than you were for a long time.” She then turned to address Mickey, the first one to actually do so that night, “I don’t know what it is about you, Mickey Milkovich, but you always made him happy.”

 

   Ian’s heart warmed and he grinned at his sister, even as his hand found Mickey’s under the table. The reforming thug grinned and lightly blushed. When Lip pointed that out with a smug grin, Theo waved his little hands around and knocked Lip’s bottle of whiskey over. Ian was proud.

 

   Proud of his kid. _Their_ kid. Theo.


	25. Just Cause I Learnt How to Live Without You, Don't Mean That I Ever Wanted To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> letting go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii guys!
> 
> Phew isn't that title long? It's from the song 'I Miss You' by Grey ft. Bahari
> 
> I'm offering up an update quicker than usual wowie! I wasn't supposed to post this till this weekend, but I'll be travelling next month, so I won't be able to update for two weeks :( Figured I owe you guys some love c: 
> 
> I'm going to Cambodia and Vietnam eeek so excited.
> 
> Anywho, much love, please comment and review it makes me so happy x

   Lip disappeared after dinner, drunk out of his mind. He didn't wander far, just to the front porch, which was where Mickey found him when he went out for a smoke. Ian was still in the room, the ginger ass attention lover fucking _preening_ as the women of the house (and Liam) cooed over baby Theo. Mickey excused himself for a smoke, leaving only after Ian fucking _pecked_ him on the cheek. It kind of scared him how domestic, suburban couple they were becoming. It scared him even more how much he liked it. When he stepped out, he nearly tripped over Lip, who was laying spread eagle on the front porch. “What the fuck- Lip, man, get the fuck up,” Mickey said, all in the span of one breath. Lip groaned, but pulled himself up slowly as Mickey watched him with a mix of pity and understanding. “Man, how much did you fucking drink?” he asked, knowing full well that Lip had high tolerance and it must have been a shit load of alcohol to get him this drunk. Apparently, Theo spilling his whiskey hadn’t made as much of a dent as one might have hoped.

 

    Mickey sighed, lighting up the cigarette and passing it to Lip hesitantly. Lip reached out to hold it, perhaps answering his body’s call towards nicotine despite his barely there state. “The fuck are you doing to yourself, man?” Mickey questioned in a voice more gentle than he would ever admit to. Lip let out a drunken laugh, chilling Mickey to the bone. “The fuck do you care?” Lip asked, slurring the words, “You and Ian and fucking _Theo,_ ” given Lip’s state, Mickey decided to let the mocking tone pass him by, “Fucking playing happy family while I'm stuck _here._ I don’t have anything going for me. Just like fucking _Frank_.” Mickey wasn't sure whether to be glad that Lip was so self aware or alarmed that he was still continuing with his habits despite that. “It’s fucking easy for you, Milkovich,” Lip continued, to which Mickey replied with a firm _fuck you._ Mickey’s life had been a lot of things. Easy wasn't one of them. “Seriously. Fucking the _love of your life_ since we were kids. And  having him fucking love you back. The fuck’d you get right that I didn't? Why’d they never love me back?”

 

    This was getting to uncomfortable territory for Mickey. He wasn't one for much talk about love and shit. Even with Ian, his feelings were expressed more through actions than words. But here, words seemed to be the only way out. “Well, you’re a fucking asshole,” Mickey suggested, to which Lip just drunkenly laughed again. “Chill out man,” he continued, placing an awkward hand on Lip’s shoulder, “There’ll be someone who can take your shit someday, man. And give you shit too.” Lip nodded, and nodded, but didn't respond, so Mickey decided to give the whole counselling thing another go. “I’ve been where you are, man. I know that it helps to forget stuff, being on some shit all the time. But I stopped that shit and started taking care of myself, and now I’m here with the _love of my life_ and our kid. Give it a shot?” Mickey tried to catch Lip’s eye, but the man just stared at the ground and even though he nodded, Mickey wasn't sure he got to him. He had been pretty sure he wouldn’t, but he figured it was worth it to try.

 

    “Mick?” he heard a voice behind him, making him jump. Ian. Mickey slowly disengaged himself from where Lip was leaning slightly on his shoulder and stood to meet his lover. Mickey wasn't sure how much Ian had heard, so he couldn’t quite be sure if it was the recounting of his own addictions, the _love of my life_ comment, or the _our son_ that had Ian’s eyes shining.

 

 

///

 

 

    Ian and Mickey were given Lip’s room for the night. Apparently Lip having a room was just a formality, seeing as he hardly ever made it up the stairs for the night. Ian felt worried for his brother, but three years of watching his brother spiral had made him more resilient. Debbie had stolen Theo away for the night, suggesting he use Frannie’s old crib in her room. Ian didn't like it much, put the pull of an empty room and a way to release all the stress and tension was tempting. Plus, Mickey’s _love of my life_ comment hadn’t hurt either. Ian didn't bring it up directly, knowing it would make Mickey uncomfortable, but he made sure to fuck Mickey nice and slow that night, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and making sure Mickey felt warm and taken care of and safe before he approached the unknown the next day. When they were done, Ian cleaned them up. He was restless, as was Mickey. They weren’t used to Theo being out of their sight; even if had just been a few days, he was their responsibility. When the baby started crying, Ian tiptoed out of their bed and knocked on Debbie’s door. She was rocking a wailing Theo lightly, when Ian scooped him up and carried him to their room instead. Mickey looked incredibly relieved at the sight of Theo, even if he would always deny it. That night, with both him and Mickey curled up around Theo, Ian lived out one of his dreams for their family.

 

 

 

///

 

 

    There they were. The police station was dull and worn down, but still the most intimidating place Mickey had seen, mostly because of the significance it held. Despite the rough neighbourhood, Mickey let Ian hold his hand. _That_ was how nervous he was. When he walked in, they both tensed, clearly expected fucking snipers and the entire cavalry to attack them all at once. Instead, the room stayed the same; officers calmly typing away at their desks and taking calls. Hesitantly, Mickey walked forward. He had no idea what the fuck he should do; how exactly does one go about turning themselves in to the police?

 

    Suddenly, the boys came in contact with a familiar face. Tony Markovich. “Shit, Ian?” the tall man questioned, eyes widening further when they fell on Mickey’s face. “ _Mickey Milkovich?_ ” his voice dropped lower, yet somehow managed to become higher pitched. Ian’s grip on Mickey’s hand tightened. “H-Hey, Tony,” Ian greeted, stumbling over his words. “Go,” Tony said, not acknowledging Ian’s greeting at all, “Go _now_ and I never saw you, Mickey.” The offer was tempting, and for a few moments Mickey was tempted to take it, and get the fuck out of there. But then he thought of Ian and Theo and himself and all the reasons he was doing this at all. Ian, who deserved to be with someone who could take care of him, and was actually _around._ Theo, who deserved a father who wasn't just another Southside ex-con, but someone he could be proud of. And Mickey himself, who was trying to get his life together, and his GED, and make something of himself. They deserved it; all of them.

 

    Mickey started to step forward, but became aware of Ian’s tight grip around his wrist. He turned around quizzically, softening when he saw Ian’s watery eyes, breath catching in his throat. “We talked about this,” Mickey said quietly, so only Ian would hear. Ian nodded, “I know. But I’m not _ready.”_ His voice broke with the last word, eyes almost overflowing. Mickey kissed Ian’s palm lightly, turning around; but not before whispering soft words of comfort. “Nah, man,” Mickey said out loud, addressing Tony, “Enough fucking running.” He extended his wrists, hands shaking slightly. Tony paused for a moment more, like he was waiting for Mickey to reconsider, then sighed and produced his handcuffs. “Mikhailo Aleksander Milkovich, you are under arrest for escaping from a federal detainment facility, and assault and battery. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say-“

 

    Tony continued on, but it just sounded like white noise to the boys. Ian watched helplessly as Mickey was led away, mouthing a soft _I love you_ that Mickey would have surely made fun of if they were in any other situation. Mickey was trying to cover up, smirking at Ian, but he could see the potent fear in the raven haired boy’s eyes. Ian waited till Mickey was completely out of sight, and the station around him had turned completely chaotic because of Mickey’s presence, to break down. He leaned heavily against a now empty desk, covering his wet face with shaking hands. He gasped, choking on his own misery. He had known that this was going to happen, but he hadn’t realised how much it would affect him to watch Mickey in handcuffs, being dragged away.

 

    He hadn’t realised that after so much time, and so many separations, it could still hurt so much to watch Mickey go.

 

 

///

 

 

    When Ian reached the Gallagher house (no longer home, he realised) he ignored his family’s concerned looks and questions. The officers had handed him a contact id and address for where he could meet Mickey, and Ian had already made a call to the best defence attorney they had found online and set up a meeting for the next day. Enough had happened, he decided, now he just wanted to rest. He lay down in the bed, chasing some lingering _Mickey_ on the sheets. He held Theo close, and when the baby started crying, Ian rocked him back and forth, but halfheartedly. He knew, better than anyone in that moment, that sometimes you just wanted to break down.


	26. You'll Be in My Dreams Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloo, and welcome to the beginning of the trial and the ultimate crushing of the piece of shit also known as Terry. I'm trying to write as much as possible so I can reach a certain point in the story before I leave for vacation. My summer holidays started, so I have more time on my hands now :)  
> enjoy!  
> chapter title from ILUSM by gnash

   Mickey’s arrest now was nothing like the ones he had faced before. Those had been frantic, ugly, him fighting back against those who strived to capture him. But this time; this time he had _chosen_ this. He had chosen the handcuffs around his wrists, the dozens of officers around him, the loneliness and misery of being alone in lock up. He could tell almost immediately that the government of the United States had given up on ever finding him again. He heard a few (probably newbies, since true Southside cops knew his name, even before the arrest) ask who he was. He realised that if he had stayed in Mexico, he could have lived out a decent life as Mickey Fisher, and the government would never know or care. But he didn't want to live out a life as Mickey Fisher. He was Mikhailo Aleksander Milkovich and that was the name he wanted, even on his gravestone when he died.

 

    Due to his reduced sentence, he wasn't treated as harshly as he would have been otherwise. Assault and battery was an everyday thing in the Southside. Mickey was unsurprised to find that he was alone in lockup for the night; there was so much petty crime every day in this area that the cops didn't even bother arresting most. Mickey lay down on the bench meant for multiple occupants and thought of the night before, when he had been curled up in a warm bed with Ian and Theo. With that memory in mind, and the promise of more nights like it, Mickey managed to fall asleep.

 

 

///

 

 

    He woke up to the sound of someone banging loudly against metal. “What the fuck?!” he complained loudly, opening his eyes reluctantly. Mickey was _not_ a morning person. Anyone who woke him up in the morning deserved a gunshot to the head, in his opinion. An officer stood outside his cell, prim and proper and not Southside at all. When she saw Mickey was awake, she said, “Mr. Milkovich, we will be escorting to a temporary holding facility until your trial can be arranged. You will be allowed to contact your lawyer, and visitors of your choice there. We leave in fifteen.” _Visitors of your choice._ Mickey immediately thought of Ian. Not Theo. He didn't want the kid to see him handcuffed and orange clad. He hoped Ian would understand that and leave the kid back at the Gallaghers’. _Lawyer._ Mickey hadn’t had the foresight to actually contact a lawyer, although he had found a few online, because he was a fucking idiot. But he had no doubt Ian would have talked to one, because that fucker was conscientious that way. He nodded in response to the woman, mainly to get her to leave him alone. As soon as she did so, he stretched and gingerly stood. His bones and muscles ached from sleeping on the hard, uncomfortable surface. Jesus, he really had grown soft. His childhood was full of sleeping uncomfortably, even in his own home. His room was on the way to the bathroom growing up, so his dad or brothers could walk in at any moment. Jesus, unless Mickey was in prison, he couldn’t even watch porn for fear someone would walk in. Even then, there had been way too less testosterone in the videos Mandy sent him for his liking.

 

   He smiled a little at the thought of his sister. Mandy, he would have to contact her soon. He’d ask Ian to do it when they met later that day. The idea itself made Mickey grin. Yes, he was whipped. No, he didn't mind. Being with Ian had been, for a long time, the only safety he had ever known. Since he didn't exactly have a shower or anything, Mickey just splashed some water over his face from the sink in the corner of the cell, deciding to risk it and gulping down the questionable water too. Then he sat there, staring at nothing, till the same officer came to get him. She tied cuffs around his wrists again, but gently. _Gentleness_ always jarred Mickey a little. He hadn’t known much of it in his life, and it still felt like a favour; despite all the kindness he had gotten from strangers in Mexico. He was led to the waiting van outside, through the police station corridors. The officers didn't stare at him; gazes looking at him and then through him in a matter of seconds. Mickey wasn't sure if he should be insulted that he was so unimportant to them. He decided he was glad. He had long past surpassed the time, and age, where the number of convictions you had and the fear you evoked was a measure of your manliness.

 

    He sat in the backseat of the van, and the two officers in the front happened to be Tony and the woman who had come to pick him up (Josephine, he was later informed.) When he hadn’t caved to their shameless attempts at drawing information out of him, they shifted to other conversations. Turns out Tony had ‘turned’ gay after dating Fiona. Mickey had heard lots of stories about her from Ian; of cheating and lying and temper and drugs. He understood Tony’s dilemma. Gallaghers were a shitstorm not everyone could handle. All of the aforementioned bad things had grown between him and Ian too, and it had hurt at least one of them, every time. But if there was one thing Mickey could be absolutely certain of, it was that his and Ian’s relationship had proved stronger than anything Fiona had ever had with anyone. Honestly, their relationship, oddly enough, had been the longest and most stable relationship anyone he knew had ever had. Who woulda thought two gay kids from the Southside could make something so durable, binding them even when they were apart? If Terry, the shit with Svetlana, the bipolar, cheating and Mickey’s escape hadn’t been able to break them, Mickey was sure that little ever could.

 

 

///

 

 

    The facility was the nicest place Mickey had ever been locked up, easy. Juvie in the Southside was dirty and overcrowded and full of teens with anger management issues. Prison was also dirty and overcrowded, but this time with adults with anger management issues. This facility was neat and well painted and kind of reminded him of the hospital Ian had been admitted into. There were fucking fake plants and sofas and pristine white walls, as if the building didn't house criminals and degenerates. He was led to a solitary room, which turned out to be a private room he got all to himself. Solitary in prison was a _lot_ different. As soon as he sat down on the comfortable enough single bed, Josephine informed him that Ian was already waiting for him downstairs. He grinned, bright and open, trying to reel it in when he realised Josephine was smiling at him smiling. “The fuck you looking at?” he snapped half heartedly, thumbing his lower lip. “Nothing,” she said, still grinning like the fucking Cheshire cat, “You’ve got a nice smile, Mickey.” He shrugged uncomfortably. She seemed to get that he wasn't good with compliments, and simply inclined her head towards the door. “Get out here; let’s reunite you with your guy, loverboy.” Mickey sent her the middle finger smoothly, following her up the stairs, practically vibrating with excitement on the inside.

 

   Ian was waiting for him at a table, the sorts of which Mickey would have once attempted to steal and pawn off. Dark, pristine wood, just _waiting_ to be carried away and sold to some idiot who thought he was getting a bargain. But the table, and everything around it, sort of seemed to fade when Mickey saw Ian. It was stupid and sappy and belonged in a chick flick, but Mickey couldn’t help but think it. Ian grinned, wide and innocent, looking so much like the Ian who used to work at Kash n Grab and say stupid shit about booty calls. “I’ll be standing over _there,”_ Josephine said pointedly, retreating. Ian lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Mickey. “I missed you,” he breathed into his ear, warm breath making the hair at Mickey’s nape stand up attentively. “It was one fucking night, Gallagher,” Mickey snarked, shoving him away. But the truth was he had missed Ian too. A lot. But the red head already knew that, judging from his knowing eyes. “I  didn't bring Theo,” Ian said, bringing the absence of the little kid to Mickey’s immediate attention, “I figured you wouldn’t want him to... you know?” Mickey nodded. Ian had understood; of course he had. “But this place is nice. And you aren’t cuffed, or behind glass, or anything. Maybe day after? Tomorrow we’re meeting with the lawyer.”

 

    “Sounds good. Which asshole DA did they stick me with this time?” Mickey asked, ready to share a joke at the legal system’s expense, before Ian responded. “You’re not having some fucking DA who doesn’t know shit. You’re having a _proper_ criminal lawyer. Like in the movies.” Mickey’s eyebrows raised so high, it was shocking they didn't fly off his face. “Who the fuck’s paying for that, Ian?”

 

    “I am.”

 

   “Fuck off.”

 

   “I'm fucking serious, Mick. We’re not just going to get you out. We’re going to keep Terry _in.”_

 

   Ian’s eyes were fierce, stormy. “Ian, no one said anything about Terry.” Mickey hated his father, yes, but it had never crossed his mind to actually legally persecute him. But he’d be lying if it didn't sound _damn_ good to have Terry locked up till he too old to hurt Mickey, or his family again. “Mick, I told you I’d keep you safe, right? And I know you might think I don’t need to but _please._ This is how I keep you safe.” Mickey could see Ian’s eyes glistening, and knew that the other boy had been agonising over his lack of participation in Mickey’s life over the last few years, and was trying to fix it now. He knew that fighting against Terry would probably warrant him talking about what had happened to him in prison. Fuck if that didn't fill him with anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him. But Mickey was giving himself a fresh start, wasn't he? Getting rid of Terry was a part of that fresh start. So he nodded. Ian smiled; the kind of smile that made it all worth it.

 

 

///

 

 

   That night, Mickey fell asleep in a semi-comfortable bed, with a decent meal of burgers and fries resting in his stomach. The facility and cafe and other inmates were all cleaner and more inviting than any other place he had ever been. But his mind still drifted to the night before the last, and he convinced himself that that was all he had to think about until tomorrow. Tomorrow would bring fear and lawyers and trials and Terry. But tonight it was just him and silence, with the echoes of his little family lying beside him.


	27. I Run To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but how much do you love the quick updates? I'm going to try for ONE more update before I leave to tide you guys over!
> 
> as always, thanks for your support. We're almost at three hundred kudos which is just ?!?!?!? And over a hundred subscriptions?!?! You guys are amazing.
> 
> chapter title from song of same name by Missio. It honestly has nothing to do with the chapter, but I couldn't think of anything soo 
> 
> x

   As per Mickey’s instructions, Ian planned to call Mandy the night after he had visited him for the first time. The facility was a little further than Mickey’s older prisons had ever been, but Ian didn't mind the trip if it meant Mickey could stay in a place that seemed much better than the others. It had seemed more like a hospital than anything else. And seeing Mickey in his own clothes, free of the glass between them, didn't give him that tight feeling he used to get in his chest every time he thought about visiting Mickey in jail before. Ian still had a lot of self loathing tucked into him because of the selfish way he had behaved back then; forcing Mickey to be alone when the Terry-crisis happened. But Mickey had forgiven Ian; and Ian was working on that now. He knew he had an inherent selfish trait, born out of growing up in a family where they only had each other, and little else. It wasn't an excuse, but it was a reason. And Mickey; Mickey who had little, but still managed to be one of the most selfless people Ian knew. He _would_ deserve Mickey someday; he would imbibe that selflessness little by little till it became an inherent part of him. It was time Ian became more than just the Gallagher middle child. More than the lonely, robotic EMT. Ian wanted to be Mickey’s Ian now; and the Ian he would paint himself as. Ian had a choice, and he chose his new life.

 

    But sidetracked by all these thoughts, Ian had dozed off on the couch; only waking up when someone unceremoniously dumped water on his face. He startled awake, arms raised, ready to defend himself. He immediately dropped them when he saw who it was.

 

    “ _Mandy?!”_

 

    Mandy didn't seem concerned with greetings or small talk. Instead she shoved his shoulder, _hard,_ making him cry out. “You fucking dick! My brother gets back and gives himself up and I have to hear it from _Philip Gallagher._ Do you know how insulting that is?!” In the flurry of noise and motion, all Ian heard was the ‘Philip Gallagher’ part. “You and Lip still talk?” he asked in confusion. Immediately, Mandy clammed up. Ian could tell he had just figured something out that he wasn’t supposed to. He had no idea what that was, because he felt as clueless as ever. “Mandy, _what?”_

She bit her lip hesitantly, opening her mouth and closing it again. He waited not-so-patiently, eyeing her sharply. “Well, Lip called me after you went to the border. He figured your disappearance had something to do with Mick, so he asked me. I didn't know anything about it, but when Mick contacted me, I let Lip know where to reach him, in case he ever needed to.” Ian felt like someone had punched his gut and stolen all the air in his lungs. He knew Mandy had known where Mickey was, but that was okay; she was Mickey’s sister and it was only to help Mickey’s case. But _Lip_? Lip didn't even _like_ Mickey, and he had had nothing to do with Mickey’s case at all. Ian’s heart ached at the thought that Mickey’s contact had been right here, under his nose, for the entirety of those three painful, loveless years. “ _Lip?_ You told _Lip_ and not me?” Ian tried to be demanding, but he just sounded small and weak. Mandy softened and rested a comforting hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ian,” she said, “But Mickey didn't want you to know. He was really fucked up for a while, there.”

 

    Ian’s eyes watered and stung. He _knew_ this; he had thought it a thousand times. But it didn't get any easier to think about the abandonment Mickey had felt. Mickey had long absolved him for not going over the border with him. _“I get it Gallagher. With your pills and shit, it wouldn’t have been a good idea to go on the run with a fucking fugitive. It’s okay.”_ But even though Mickey seemed to reason it out, it didn't erase the hurt he had felt. “We’re better now. I love him, and I’m going to take care of him this time,” Ian said quietly, knowing that it was never a question of love at all. Ian had loved Mickey every time; all those times he had ended things. But he was finally ready to choose his life with Mickey wholeheartedly, flaws and all. Mandy smiled a little, but it was a slightly sad one. “I hope you do, Ian,” she replied quietly, no snark at all, “Because I don’t think he’ll survive it again.”

 

    Silence filled the room for a few moments, and Ian looked up at the ceiling drying to dry out his tears. When he was satisfied, he looked down at Mandy again and hugged her. “Hey, girlfriend,” he smiled slightly. Ian knew he and Mandy wouldn’t be the same again. The childhood innocence of their friendship had evaporated, as had the sibling like bickering. Ian loved Mandy, but time and distance and circumstance had drawn them apart. They weren’t best friends anymore, but Ian still knew he could count on her if he needed her. Either way, they would always be bound because of Mickey, if not the memories of growing up together. “Now where’s this nephew I heard about?” She grinned, pulling away, reminding Ian a lot of _Lili_ in that moment, actually. They hadn’t contacted the Sanchez’s yet. It wasn't safe; incriminating for both parties. But sometimes Carl would say something dumb, or in this moment of Mandy’s innocence, he ached to meet them again. They had been Mickey’s family in Mexico, and in those few months, Ian had loved being a part of that. Theo was the little part of Mexico the boys had carried with them, though.

 

   Ian grinned, feeling proud of his kid like some kind of PTA mom. He led Mandy upstairs and showed her Theo, who was sleeping in Frannie’s cot. “He’s got freckles like you,” Mandy cooed adoringly. “And Mick’s eyes,” Ian informed her, though the baby’s eyes were closed. Ian loved the little pieces of him and Mickey that were in Theo; it made him feel like the tiny person was truly _theirs._ “You know, the other day, he knocked over Lip’s whiskey. He’s such a badass already,” Ian grinned, feeling pride inflate his chest. “Fatherhood suits you, Ian Gallagher,” Mandy grinned back, wrapping her arms around Ian’s middle, “I always knew you’d be the one to make an honest woman of my brother. I was doubtful for a little while, but I’m sure now.”

 

   Ian was pretty sure that was the biggest compliment he had ever received.

 

 

///

 

 

    After a rather awkward night where the Gallagher house was filled to the brim with Lip and Mandy’s tension and hormones, Ian and Mandy made their way to the detainment centre Mickey was in. “Nice,” Mandy commented appreciatively, nodding at the glass panels and sofas and cleanness of the room they waited in. They were half an hour early ( _maybe_ Ian had been a little too eager to leave) and it wasn't till fifteen minutes later that Mr. Lee Donnelly arrived. Ian, who had only ever seen the man through pictures online, found that he was actually friendly and genial looking. He was tall, just a little shorter than Ian, and when they shook hands, his was firm in its grasp. Ian decided he liked him. “Okay so you requested that we get the costs out of the way before the meeting with your partner?” Mr. Donnelly ( _Please, call me Lee)_ asked Ian soon after the introductions were out of the way. Ian nodded, “He can get a little... cranky when he doesn’t get to pay his own way through things. The Southside in him, I guess.” Lee smiled at that. “You’re Southside?” he questioned, nostalgia flooding his voice. Ian knew by that that he was Southside too, before Lee told them he was.

 

    “Okay so, my usual range for a full criminal defence reaches upwards of 400 for every consultation. However, there are soon extenuating circumstances. Number one, Mister Milkovich’s sentence has already been reduced, so we are not actually fighting to acquit him of his original charges, but the break out from prison. Second, you kids _are_ Southside, and trying to make it out just like I did. So put these together and we’re looking at 200 per consultation. Works?” Ian just nodded agreeably at this entire speech, as did Mandy. “Great,” Lee grinned, “Now excuse me that drive really did me in.” With that, the lawyer turned on his heel and headed to the guest bathroom. “I could’ve gotten Jim to do all this for free, you know,” Mandy said once Lee was out of earshot. “I know,” Ian shrugged, he had reasoned through it before, “But this is something I have to do, Mands. This is the first time I’m sticking by him for the first time. He had you all this time, but never me. I want to take care of him this time.” Mandy offered him and wide grin, and no words. Her smile only widened when the receptionist told them Mickey was ready to see them.

 

    Mickey was wearing a sleeveless shirt and jeans, and he looked like the same person Ian knew and loved. Not a stranger in an orange jumpsuit. _Mickey._ Ian held back as the siblings half-hugged, greeting each other with cries of _asshole_ and _bitch!,_ nodding at the guard who had been there the day before as well. Ian smiled at the strange interactions of Milkovich’s in the wild; something that had fascinated him since he was a kid. Ian waited his turn, and then smothered Mickey a little in his grasp, kissing the top of his head before pulling away. “Where’s this lawyer I keep hearing about?” Mickey questioned snarkily, but Ian could tell he was nervous. “Present!” Lee answered from the doorway; hand held high like he was a kid at school.

 

    “I’m Lee.” “Mickey.”

 

    They all sat down around the low coffee table between them. “Okay so we’re sitting in New Hope Detention Centre. Clichéd name, I know. But the fact that we’re in this low security facility despite the fact that you successfully broke out of one with higher security tells me something happened, or you said something during your preliminary interrogation to make them trust you.”  The fact that Lee had managed to get all that from the place Mickey was staying made Ian sure that he was the right choice. Mickey’s gaze turned shifty, not making eye contact even with Ian. “I don’t know about trust, but I told them enough and then freaked the fuck out. They probably figured I couldn’t handle the big house.” Ian’s eyebrows drew together, and when he finally caught Mickey’s eyes, he gave him a meaningful look. _Panic attack?_ Mickey looking down said enough. “Nothing bad,” he continued, probably mostly for Ian’s sake, “But enough to have them keeping me in a ‘low stress environment’ or some shit.” Ian’s heart constricted, but he kept his face unmoving.

 

    Lee nodded along. “Okay, Mickey, you seem like a smart guy. I’m guessing guy like you won’t make a run for it when you’ve got less than four months left. If you can offer me something substantial, I can build my case around it.” Mickey’s face closed off spectacularly, and Ian wished he had had more time to be alone with Mickey before the official meeting started. He sidled past Mandy, and sat right next to Mickey; hand on his thigh offering support as best he could. Mickey turned his face to the side, nose brushing against Ian’s shoulder, just for a brief moment. Then he pulled away and started.

 

    Ian had heard it all before, but it still made his stomach turn and his heart ache. Mandy let out small sounds under her breath at certain points at the story. Lee just stayed serious, making notes and taping the whole thing. His face wasn't as heartbroken as Ian’s and Mandy’s probably were; he had most likely heard many terrible stories in his career path. Mickey’s hands shook lightly when he got to the hard parts, Jesus, what wasn’t the hard part? Ian gripped his hand tight, but not so tight that it would make him feel cornered and suffocated. When Mickey finished, Lee simply said, “I’m sorry that that happened to you, Mickey.” “Yeah,” the smaller man replied, “Yeah, me too.”

 

    “I trust you on this, but we’ve got to _convince_ the judge. We need substantial evidence to present. Although you clearly have many who love you, we can’t solely rely on character witnesses. Now, this isn’t going to be too high profile, not as much as it would have been if you were still on attempted murder. But a strong case is never a bad thing.” Mickey nodded and nodded and Ian could see that he was feeling lost and out of his depth. “Hey,” Ian said to him quietly, “Means to an end, right?” Mickey looked up at him with big blue watery eyes. And then nodded, but in a different way than before. “Gimme some paper or some shit,” he said, picking up a pencil on the table. When Lee produced some, Mickey started writing.

 

    He wrote for a long time before he offered it up to Lee. Ian could see that Mickey had made two lists, one labelled _participants_ and the other, _witnesses._ Ian saw the long lines of names on either side and wanted to kill them all; the one who had hurt Mickey _and_ the ones who had watched him bleed and done nothing. This time it was Mickey who stroked his hand soothingly in small circles. Then, he reached forward. Tapped on Terry’s name, underlined twice. “Him,” Mickey said menacingly, “I want him _gone.”_

 

///

 

 

    Right before they left, Lee and Mandy shuffled out to leave the boys alone. “You should have told me,” Ian said, trying to be accusing but not really able to be angry at Mickey after the day he’d had. “I’m sorry,” Mickey smiled in that way that made Ian’s brain turn to mush, “I didn't want you to worry.” Ian kissed him, slow and deep.

 

   “I always worry.”

 

   Mickey snorted, “Get the fuck out of here, you raging homosexual.” Ian laughed, and Mickey did too. No matter how bad things got, it seemed Mickey’s terrible humor would always make Ian laugh.


	28. When You Feel My Heat, Look Into My Eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we go- last chapter for a little while now, or until the middle of next month? I hope you like it!
> 
> we crossed the 300 kudos mark YOU GUYS ARE ALL SO BEAUTIFUL I'M LUCKY TO HAVE YOU
> 
> seriously, thank you so much. the support for this story keeps me going. I'm sorry I don't update as quickly as some other writers, and that my story is like 80% introspection and emotions rather than plot, but i'm glad you stick by it anyway.
> 
> you guys are amazing  
> x
> 
> (chapter title from 'demons' by imagine dragons)

    Mickey sat down to eat his dinner (hot dogs, fries and veggies) on an empty table of the cafeteria. The room was sparsely populated by various other ‘convicts’ who looked like any other average person one would pass on the street. In the last two days, he had managed to snag a table for himself alone. Not as much of an achievement as getting a solitary table in prison, but he was still pretty proud. Apparently, his luck was doomed to end that day. Three minutes and four fries into his meal, the bench in front of Mickey moved slightly and a sandy haired, middle aged man took a seat in front of him. Mickey looked at him in confusion, “Are you lost?” The man let out a hearty laugh; the kind that you associated with Santa. “You’ve got a sense of humor there, young man.”  Mickey rolled his eyes. He was far from a ‘young man’, now twenty five fresh. “I’m Andrew, and you are?” Mickey hesitantly offered up his name, wondering why this prim and proper guy was in a place like this. He was probably a serial killer, or a cannibal or some shit. If there was one thing Mickey had learnt from prison, it was that the quiet ones were always the most psychotic.

 

    “What’re you here for?” Mickey decided to ask, figuring knowing was better than wondering. “You’re looking at a kleptomaniac with a penchant for cars. And heart trouble. They figured they don’t want me in prison when I croak. It’s a lot of paperwork.” Andrew said all this easily, like he was talking about the weather.

 

    “Huh, I always thought kleptomania was just bullshit thieves used to get away with it,” Mickey commented, met with another round of Andrew’s booming laughter.

 

   “Son, I would be sitting at home right now with my wife and kids if I hadn’t stolen a car or two. Trust me, if it weren’t for the itch in my fingers, I would’ve never done it,” Andrew seemed to survey Mickey, narrowing his eyes slightly, “And you? What’s your excuse for being here?” Mickey shifted his, now cold, food around of his plate with his fork, “Broke outta prison and went on the run for three years. Turned myself in a few days ago.”

 

    Andrew’s eyebrows drew together. “Turned _yourself_ in? Why the fuck would you do that?”

 

   “Careful; that’s a dollar in the swear jar, Andrew,” Mickey joked. He sighed, and then continued, “Because I want that, man. I wanna sit at home with my partner and kids without being a fugitive on the run.”

 

    That was one thing Mickey was sure of. He had a vision for his life going forward, and this was how he was going to achieve it. No glory in the process, but it would be worth it in the end.

 

 

///

 

 

    The next day, Ian wasn't alone when he walked in. “I came bearing gifts!” Mickey’s redheaded idiot cried out, holding Theo like he was Simba in the Lion King. Mickey grinned, wide and toothy, grabbing the little kid from Ian’s arms. “Hey, little man,” He greeted Theo, who giggled in his kid way, “You’re getting big.”

 

    A stab of déjà vu hit him in the worst way, Ian saying _Svetlana paid me._ But Mickey reared it in. It wasn't fair to himself, or Ian, to spend the rest of their lives caught up on Ian’s old mistakes. It had hurt like fuck, but he knew Ian was sorry. He knew Ian regretted everything that had happened. That would have to be enough.

 

    Josephine emerged from her usual corner to coo at the baby. Mickey preened slightly at how his kid managed to win everyone’s hearts. Hey, he was allowed. While Theo was preoccupied with Josephine’s weird faces and baby voice, Mickey leaned into Ian and kissed him. Ian put down the huge bag of baby supplies he was carrying (looking like a true frazzled dad) to wrap his arms around Mickey. Even when their lips retreated, they just stood there for a little while, pressed together. “Sorry I got late,” Ian murmured, “I went to the station to see if they could arrange for a transfer for me. Sue said they could, though it’s kinda last minute.”

 

    “Mhm,” Mickey said, urging Ian to continue. It was clear from Ian’s tone of voice that there was something the other man was leaving out. Ian sighed, “She said my old station’s all filled up. It might be a transfer out of Chicago again. New York, or something.” Mickey pulled back slightly, more out of surprise than anything else. Ian looked slightly nervous. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?” he asked, hopeful note in his voice, “Fresh start for us. Far away from Lip, and close to Mandy.” Mickey laughed at the last part. “You had me at _far away from Lip,”_ he grinned, “That sounds good, Gallagher. You, me and the kid.” It _did_ sound good. No more of the bad memories that were spread to heavily over the Chicago skyline. No matter how much Mickey thought _forgive and forget,_ it was hard when every face you passed was a familiar one, or every place you knew was heavily saturated with memories. There were many good ones; but many not so great ones too. If it wouldn’t have been economically completely stupid, the first thing he would’ve done was burn the Milkovich house down.

 

   But those were thoughts and problems for another day. Lee had had a hearing that day, so he couldn’t come in person. However, he had discussed their options with Ian just the day before. They were going to appeal for a hearing as soon as Lee could get his sources at the prison Mickey had been held go through the surveillance cams. Mickey had told him that Terry used to slip the pills into his food around dinner time; if they caught that on camera, they would have a good baseline for their defence. Plus, he had spoken to two guards he knew over there who had been named on the _witness_ side of the list, who had agreed to testify after Lee had been the one to contact them. It was all very Suits-esque. Mickey felt like he was in a TV show.

 

   Once Ian had filled him in, they could just sit and relax for a while. Many of the residents had kids who visited them, so there was a little pile of toys on one of the corner tables. Theo seemed scarcely interested in those, though, instead pulling their hair and chewing on his hands happily. He looked like one of those baby monkeys Mickey had seen in a documentary once when no one else was at home. Three year old Mickey had still been innocent to some extent, and asked Terry if he could have one as a pet. The question was so ridiculous that Terry didn't even bother beating him, instead just laughing at him and then shoving him out of the room so he could get high with his poker buddies. Mickey, now, decided that he quite liked having his own baby chimpanzee.

 

 

///

 

 

    That night was _not_ a good one. Maybe it was just all the talk of Terry, and what had happened, recently. Maybe it was the stress of the upcoming hearing and having to talk about it in front of a bunch of strangers. Maybe it was both. But Mickey woke up in cold sweat, breath choking in his throat. He looked to the clock at his bedside for reference to what unholy time he had woken up, but the numbers blurred in front of his eyes. He gasped, trying to get off his bed, but it felt like the bed sheets were tying him down. Eventually, with shaking hands, he managed to get free and clambered off the bad, tripping just once. He made it to the door (they didn't lock the doors here. All the people were _delicate_ in the eyes of the State, and needed to be able to call for help anytime they needed it.) Ripping it open, the loud noise caught the attention of the man in charge, who was posted in the common area. He immediately approached Mickey, but cautiously, like he would break at any moment. _Get yourself together,_ Mickey snapped at himself, humiliated to be in this position. “My...” he tried, “The phone?”

 

    His semi-coherent request was met with a nod. “Just focus on your breathing. You are safe here. Your boyfriend informed us that having him as an emergency contact might be helpful in case you had an episode. Try to calm down, while I call him.” Mickey would have laughed at him saying _try to calm down._ Like it was as easy as that. Like he hadn’t _tried_ so hard to depend on no one but himself. The thought of Ian being peacefully asleep but having to be woken up because of him kind of made him want to cry. But his eyes were already watering; what would be the difference?

 

    After what seemed like an hour (but was probably just a few moments), Mickey had found his way back to his bed, but not back to his peaceful sleep. The man knocked on his door, walking in before Mickey could respond, and handed him the phone. He then gave him a _no funny business_ look, and left the room, albeit with the door open.

 

    “ _Mick?”_ Ian said quietly, and Mickey wanted to burrow himself in the familiarity and warmth of his voice. “I can’t breathe,” Mickey said, “If I can’t breathe I’m going to die.” He heard Ian suck in a sharp breath, “ _Mick, I need you to try and breath with me_.” Ian started counting his breaths, and exaggerating his inhales and exhales so Mickey could match them. He tried as best he could. “ _Good job, baby_ ,” Ian congratulated. At any other time, Mickey would’ve cringed at the nickname. Now, it just felt comforting. _“Now we’re going to play that game we read about, okay Mick?”_ Mickey nodded, then realised Ian couldn’t hear him.  “Okay.”

 

    After Mickey had had his bout of anxiety attacks because of the Enzo mess, Ian had taken it upon himself to figure out how to help Mickey through the attacks. Mickey had bitched and complained, but some of the stuff really _did_ help sometimes.

 

“ _Three things you see?”_

 

“Uh- the clock, the wall, and the window.”

 

“ _Two things you hear?”_

 

“You. Cars outside.”

 

_“One thing you feel?”_

 

“I love you.”

 

   Ian laughed, but it sounded kind of wet, like he wasn't dry eyed either. “ _That’s not how it works, Mick. I love you too, asshole. I’m going to come see you tomorrow, okay? That’s like... six hours from now_.” Mickey sighed. Six hours? That meant it was like four in the morning, and he had woken Ian up.

 

 “I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m going to fix myself, okay?”  

 

“ _Nothing to be fixed. You’re perfect. Now try and get some sleep.”_

 

    Mickey nodded, once again realising Ian couldn’t see him. “Okay,” he whispered, before ending the call and giving the phone to the guy outside. “Your guy seems nice,” he commented lightly. Mickey grinned. “You have no idea.”

 


	29. Baby Theo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOT AN UPDATE I'M SORRY!!!  
>   
> Buuut I saw this picture and I'm like THIS is Theo so here we are!  
>   
> Much love x


	30. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is finally free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WOW A REAL LIFE ACTUAL UPDATE!!
> 
> I'm back :)) Just landed today morning and I just haaad to share this chapter of Wonderwall, and Mickey and Ian's life with you guys!
> 
> enjoy x
> 
> (this title is just a general one. There IS a song called freedom by akon which is nice, but it has nothing to do with this chapter lmao, but any other chapter title would just be WRONG)

   Mickey could still remember how strange entering the courtroom had felt to him when he was appealing to reduce his charges. For the first time in his life, that moment in the courthouse felt important; the verdict actually worth holding his breath for. It was by no means his first time in front of a judge- but it was the first time that it _mattered._ Before, Mickey had always known his sentence would be half-heartedly debated upon and then he would be labelled _guilty,_ shoved into the next bus to whatever overcrowded facility awaited him. But that time, with the lawyer, and Mandy behind him, and a jury scrutinising him, it had felt real and important. God knows it was probably just another case to the judge who had announced his reduced sentence. The whole thing had probably warranted nothing more than a shitty small mention in Chicago-only papers. But for Mickey, hearing those words had been the biggest relief of his life.

 

    This time, entering the courthouse was familiar. The guards escorting him, and the handcuffs ( _just a formality,_ Tony had said) were all familiar. The trial’s proceedings were familiar. Mandy being there was familiar. The judge in front of him, and lawyer by his side, were familiar. But there were a few new faces here; those that were ingrained into Mickey’s mind yet had been absent the last time he was in a similar situation. Ian was there, albeit without Theo. He was sitting right in the front row, literally at the edge of his seat. His face had been tense, but when he saw Mickey he clearly consciously tried to smile for him. Mickey appreciated the effort, even half hearted. Before he had to sit down, and they lost their eye contact, the fucker actually blew him a _kiss._ Mickey froze up for a second before he remembered where he was and the time that had passed and that he didn't have to be scared anymore. This trial, and the impending arrival of his personal devil, had him feeling like a terrified kid. He tried smiling back, but couldn’t quite manage it. He knew Ian would understand.

 

    The Gallaghers were here too, or at least Fiona, Debbie and Carl. Another surprising viewer was Svetlana. Mickey had talked to her through Mandy every now and then, asking about the kid and everything. She could have been helpful in speaking against Terry, what with her witnessing his first attempt at fucking Mickey straight. But the risk of her paperless situation being identified was far too great; Mickey wouldn’t ask that of her. Her being here was enough, seeing as he knew she was getting some heat from suits already. He couldn’t help but spare a thought of Yevgeny for a moment, thinking about that kid who was now probably four years old, and barely knew his father at all. Theo was his and Ian’s chance two at parenting, but he couldn’t help but wish he had another shot with his first kid, too. The idea of all these people hearing what had happened kind of made Mickey feel sick, but he tried to focus on the fact that they cared enough to come.

 

    The other familiar faces were less welcome. There were two guards, O’Brien and Rowe, who sat behind him as well. Lee had alerted Mickey of their presence, but it still made his blood go cold. He remembered their faces well, even if he had only ever seen them in passing, or when they were slipping his dad the key to his cell. There was only one _customer_ who had agreed to come forward, having been promised a reduced sentence by Lee. Mickey couldn’t even remember his name until Lee had reminded him of it. _Tom Donahue,_ his mind recalled. Again, his face was burnt into Mickey’s memory, even if he had known it best in moments blurred by darkness and drugs and pain.

 

   But the worst – the monster himself- was sitting a little away, surrounded by more guards than even Mickey had had. It had taken Lee a shitload of paperwork and sucking up to even get the prison to let out Terry, who had proved to be one of their most volatile prisoners. Terry had spat at Mickey as he passed, and yelled one of his colourful homophobic slurs. The spit hadn’t quite reached its mark, but the words certainly had. Mickey was quaking on the inside already. He wasn't sure he would make it out of this room without keeling over first.

 

    They had started off with a basic summary of what exactly they were proposing. Mickey wasn't sure if Ian had briefed the Gallaghers; otherwise they must have had quite the shock when they realised that this was more than just Mickey getting out. Hell, Mickey himself had felt a little jarred when he heard the words _Terrence Milkovich_ and _sexual extortion_ in the same sentence. Terry had done horrible things, but he had never been held to it this way. If not for him, Mickey was glad Mandy would finally get some justice too, if indirectly. The state then made a half hearted speech about Mickey’s character and past, and how any allegations he made could scarcely be trusted. The shitty DA his dad had been stuck with knew Terry wasn't worth saving, that much was clear.

 

    The photo and video evidence came next. Lee’s hard work hadn’t gone to waste; and he had found plenty of material. It was nothing too graphic, seeing as the worst had come in dark rooms and lonely cells, but there were scenes of Terry with the drugs, and even one of the guards handing over the key to what could be assumed to be Mickey’s cell. It was all shaky, messy evidence, but it was enough to cause some amount of reasonable doubt.

 

     Then came the interviews of the guards, who talked about all the logistics of it. Even Mickey hadn’t realised just how organised and thought out his torture had been. They talked about secret codes and hidden conversations, about informing Terry before drug testing took place so he could pause operations for a while. They _also_ talked about Terry threatening and extorting them, trying to prove their innocence in all of it. Mickey didn't care. There was only one person he wanted to take down, and all that had been shared was pretty damning, he could tell by the satisfaction of Lee’s face. Even the other lawyer’s tirade about possible doctored footage and insubstantial claims hadn’t been able to crack it.

 

    Tom Donahue was called to the stand next. The fucking convicted murdered sat there and cried his way through his testimony. Mickey just wanted to yell at him to toughen the fuck up. If Mickey could sit here straight-faced through his rapists’ testimonies, said rapist sure as hell could too. The blatant attempt at creating sympathy made Mickey cringe, especially since he remembered Tom as one of his most frequent _customers._ Mickey had to bite his tongue to keep from calling bullshit when Tom said _every time I did it; it was because Terry threatened me. I think rape is disgusting, and I would never do it._ Mickey thought it was pretty damn ironical a murderer was calling a crime _disgusting,_ especially one he had committed voluntarily. But he reminded himself to keep his eye on the prize.

 

    And the prize arrived. He arrived with a bang. Terry had clearly been prepped by his lawyer, and began by denying any guilt, saying he wanted nothing to do with his _AIDS monkey_ of a son. The judge had banged her gavel when the slur was used, but Terry barely flinched. Someone should have told the lawyer that containing Terry was like trying to get an elephant to do ballet. When Lee started questioning him, Terry lost it and gave what was a detailed confession punctuated with all kinds of curses. Mickey sincerely hoped the court records were okay with abusive language, because otherwise that portion of the trial would be largely censored.

 

   Mickey sunk into his seat when Terry started yelling; a reflex to hide because of this one person who had terrorised him his entire life. “ _Goddamn faggot!”_ he had shouted, “ _Yeah, I let people fuck him. Already bending over for every goddamn dick he sees, right? Why shouldn’t his old man make some fucking profit, raising this goddamn fairy all these years!”_ The judge’s hand was probably aching from banging the gavel so much, and Terry was eventually dragged out of the courtroom, kicking and screaming. When he was gone, it felt like Mickey could breathe again.

 

    “Well,” the judge mused, “That was quite a damning testimonial. However, the defence is free to present their chief witness as a final nail on the coffin.”

 

   Well, there went Mickey’s breathing again.

 

 

///

 

 

  When Mickey took the stand, he surveyed the view in front of him. He looked over faces- scandalised, horrified, scared. They had been signing up for a straightforward assault and battery trail, not a fucking court drama. Mickey settled on just looking at Ian, staring into his large, watery green eyes before focussing on Lee.

 

   “Mr. Milkovich, what is your relationship with Terrence Milkovich?”

 

    “He’s my dad,” Mickey replied, glad for the mundane question.

 

    “How would you describe your relationship with your father?”

 

    “Uh... fucked up?” he answered, earning a stern glance from the judge. “He used to smack us around, hit our mom. Nothing special in the Southside. But when he found out I was gay... he wasn't happy. To say the least.”

 

    “Records state he was arrested for assault after you came out to him. Is this true?”

 

    “Yes.”

 

    “So when you found out your father was in the same prison as you, how did you feel?”

 

   “Scared?” Mickey wasn't so sure, “It’s not safe to be gay in prison. I ‘ain’t the first guy who got hurt because of it.”

 

    “Did you ever have an experience of aggression with other inmates because of your sexuality, Mr. Milkovich?”

 

   Mickey shook his head. “I kept my head down, made friends with the right people. I’d have been lynched long before Terry came to the joint if I hadn’t. You try living with a bunch of homophobic pricks with a guy’s name tattooed onto your chest.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian wince at that.

 

    “What was the first non consensual encounter you had because of your father?”

 

    Mickey shuddered, just a little. “One of my dad’s friends. Asked my dad if he could have at me, said he’d do him a favour. Came into my cell that night, forced my cell mate out. Daddy dearest didn't bother with the drugs.” Mickey let out a harsh burst of laughter, because it wasn't funny, not at all.

 

    “What kind of activities were forced upon you?”

 

    “Handjobs, blowjobs, sex, whatever the _customer_ wanted. Terry lived to please.”

 

    A few more relatively mundane questions followed, about the drugs and the logistics of it all. The questions about his escape were few, though the other lawyer drilled into him about it. All in all, it made for an oppressive environment, and Mickey’s breath was catching. He hoped that they would hurry the fuck up, because he could already feel the day’s events catching up to him.

 

    There was a break, and then the court room came back into action. It was the moment of truth. Mickey felt a little calmer, but his nerves were sparking up. The judge announced that the court was in session again, and announced the verdict.

 

    “Mikhailo Aleksander Milkovich, the amount of evidence provided by the defence has been more than enough to support your allegations against Terrence Milkovich, who will be facing a steep sentence for his actions. Although your initial crime and subsequent break out from prison are to be held against you, the circumstances and the physical, sexual and psychological abuse you faced provide you with a strong defence. Given the situation, and the fact that you had already served four months of your six month sentence, this court finds you not guilty, and frees you of all charges, given that you help the prison you broke out of plug all holes in their security that you exploited. The prison break will also be struck from your record. We wish you luck for the future.”

 

    Mickey was too shocked to respond, even as those behind him exploded into cheers. The judge smiled at him kindly. “You can celebrate now, Mr. Milkovich, you’re a free man.”

 

    _Ian, what you and I have makes me free._

_You still make me feel free._

_Mr Milkovich, you’re a free man._

    Finally, _finally,_ the chain around Mickey’s neck rang true.


	31. I Don't Wanna Go Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyoo!!
> 
> hereby starts yet another chapter in our boys' lives, one I hope to continue writing if time allows. Hope you guys want that too :)
> 
> chapter title from the song 'Outside' by Tender (I fucking love this band do yourself a favour and go hear their songs)

   _Mr Milkovich, you’re a free man._

    Ian’s heart stuttered, and then sped up, as he heard the words. He wondered if going up to Mickey was acceptable now, and then though _fuck propriety_ and rushed forward to seize his seemingly dazed lover. “ _Mick,”_ he breathed into the crook of Mickey’s neck, feeling moisture creep into his eyes because he was so happy. “God, I’m so happy,” Ian continued, guessing Mickey wasn't quite ready to respond yet, “I’m so happy I could die, Mickey. I love you.”

 

    Mickey shuddered in Ian’s hold, clearly overwhelmed by the entire situation. “Ian,” he finally gasped out, “I can’t... _fuck-“_

    Ian immediately pulled back and surveyed Mickey’s face quickly. Yes, his initial assumption was right, Mickey was overwhelmed. But not in a good way. The other boy looked back at Ian, wide eyed and lost, as if his grip of reality was slipping from his fingers and he didn't know how to stop it. Ian looked up at Lee, asking, “Is there some place we can go? Bathroom?” Lee nodded tersely. Mickey cuffs had been loosened and so he moved freely with Ian, completely pliant in his hold as the world around him swam.

 

    Lee eventually took them to a conference room, shutting the door behind them. He also gave Ian a meaningful look before he went; reminding Ian of the conversation they had had over the phone a few days earlier. Ian would come to that, but right now, his focus was on Mickey’s present.

 

    He sat Mickey down on one of the chairs, rubbing between his shoulder blades, murmuring what he hoped were comforting words. _He’s gone, Mick. Don’t worry. You’re safe. I love you._ All the while, Ian’s heart was aching at the sight before him. Mickey’s panic attacks had been aggravating recently, probably from being in so many stressful situations and having to reflect on what had happened so often. Ian _hated_ Terry completely, because even if the man was locked up, the harm he had caused was free to roam and tear Mickey apart from the inside. Mickey’s breathing was coming back to normal now, eyes drying up, and he leaned forward with his head pressed against Ian’s chest.

 

    “Why can’t I just be _happy?”_ Mickey demanded of Ian, “This is good, Ian. He’s gone. Why can’t he just leave me _alone?”_

 

    The tears were back- Ian could hear them in Mickey’s shaking voice. Mickey’s hands went up to his hair, pulling at it from the roots. It was too close to self harm for Ian’s liking, so he stroked up Mickey’s arm, all the way up to his fingers and disentangled them gently. He brought Mickey’s head more firmly against his chest, replacing Mickey’s punishing grip on his hair with a more soothing one. Ian _hated_ this, hated to see this beautiful person haunted by his father’s spectre. He kissed the crown of Mickey’s head, and then his temple.

 

    “I was talking to Lee,” Ian started, slightly nervous about Mickey’s response already, “And he made a suggestion. After hearing about your anxiety, he told me he knew a few good therapists for PTSD- from some of his older cases.”

 

    Mickey wrenched away from Ian, looking slightly betrayed. “I don’t need a fucking therapist. You know I don’t. You said... you told me I was fine! That I was perfect!”

 

    Ian leaned forward, using his hands to explain more emphatically. “You _are_ perfect. But this thing- it’s eating you up, Mick. It’s killing me to watch you go through this. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I- I think this could be good for you.” Mickey relaxes against Ian slightly, prompting Ian to continue. “He said... said he could recommend some in New York, too. After I told him we might- you know, move. Maybe.”

 

    Mickey snorted a laugh at Ian’s careful, nervous tone. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Gallagher. You want to go to New York? We’ll go.” Ian shook his head insistently. “I don’t want to force you into anything, Mick. You don’t need to leave your life behind for me.”

 

    Mickey looked up at Ian and grinned. “Well, thank you for being so noble, Gallagher, but what fucking life? That shitty old house? My brothers? Fucking _Phillip?_ Nah, that’s my life Gallagher. You, me, Theo; fresh start in New York. City of dreams, isn’t it?”

 

    Ian smiled brightly, almost blindingly. “I meant it. I’m so happy Mickey. I’m so happy and I love you so much.” Mickey shoved him away jokingly with a _yeah, yeah_ but soon after curled into him again. It was a few minutes before they disentangled and headed for the rest of the world. Mickey was ready, now.

 

 

///

 

 

    There were a few more formalities to be completed, but those took barely anytime. Mostly it was just people clinging to an uncomfortable Mickey out of joy. Ian made sure to keep an eye on him. Mickey looked panicked, but not in an unhealthy way. Still, he looks relieved when Ian and Mandy herd him away from the crowd. Ian suggested, forcefully, that he and Mickey go alone in the car together. Mandy groaned and bitched but eventually relented, pilling into the Gallagher car with the rest of the gang. Svetlana hung back, hesitant. She clearly felt out of her comfort zone, especially since a party at the Gallaghers’ inevitably meant a run in with her former lovers. So she spoke to Ian and Mickey once they were alone, congratulating Mickey only after going after him for finally showing his _little stupid head._ Despite, Svetlana’s tormenting him; Mickey looked more at ease with her than he ever did around the Gallaghers.

 

    Only once, in her presence, did Mickey look nervous. He seemed to rethink multiple times before giving in and asking about Yev. Svetlana just nodded sagely and cryptically answered, “You’ll see him soon.” She left right after, with both boys staring, puzzled. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Mickey asked, only answered by Ian’s unhelpful answering shrug.

 

    They drove down to the house slowly. Ian knew Mickey was still a little uncomfortable with their current situation- living off of what in his mind were handouts. Soon, Ian would confirm the transfer with Sue. There was nothing holding him back after Mickey had consented; happily so. They would finally have their own place. Not a crowded house full of noise. Not a borrowed one full of Mickey’s nightmares. Their _own._ Ian couldn’t help but feel excited.

 

    Ian had never had anything new growing up. With a brother so close to his age, every single thing in his life had been a hand-me-down. Mickey was the first person that truly felt like _his._ Even his earlier ‘partners’ had had to be shared with their unsuspecting wives. After Mickey and him had ended, his job and the independence it offered were what kept him feeling like his own person. And now the partial responsibility of Theo. In New York, everything closest to him would actually be his own, not to be shared by any intruding siblings or outsiders. His. Theirs. His and Mickey’s.

 

 

///

 

 

    There ain’t no party like a Gallagher party, Ian grudgingly admitted a few hours later. The entire room was filled with confetti from somewhere, Kev was passed out on the couch, and Ian was pretty sure Lip and Mandy were having sex in the ground floor bathroom. Ian, who was only buzzed after two drinks, surveyed the room, searching for his person. He couldn’t spot him anywhere. Fuck, this day was supposed to be about Mickey. But the moment Vee suggested they do body shots, the attention of all participating members had turned. Carl looked overjoyed at the possibility of seeing Mandy half naked. Debbie seemed to feel the same way about Kev. Ian wasn't sure which one was more horrific.

 

   Either way, Ian no longer held interest in the living room. He headed to the kitchen, hoping to find Mickey grabbing another drink, though he was well on his way towards alcohol poisoning. Instead, he found Fi all alone, leaning on the counter. “Fi?” Ian asked, moving forward so he could see her face. She looked up in surprise, but what surprised _him_ was that her cheeks were wet. She was staring intently at her phone, which Ian saw had a picture of her and Jimmy-Steve. Fiona had looked all kinds of drunk earlier, but now she just looked sad and small. Ian moved automatically to press a hand against her shoulder. “You doing okay?” he asked quietly, unnerved by the sight of his usually strong sister breaking down.

 

   She nodded, “Yeah, sweetface, don’t worry. Just... watching you and Mickey, makes me think of him. What could’ve happened?” Ian nods; he's made the comparison between their relationships before. He remembers it well, the night before he left with Mickey. He remembers her saying Mickey would light a match to his life. Ian wished he had fought her on that, and told her that Mickey, perhaps, wanted Ian safe and happy more than anyone else in the world. “I thought it was true,” she continues, clearly remembering the same moment, “But now I see that that boy loves you more than anything, Ian. He’d set a match to the world, but only to save you. I’m so happy you found that, baby boy.”

 

    Ian’s eyes were wet too, by the end of her speech. He wished he could speak; return the favour by saying Jimmy-Steve loved her that way, too. But he remembered all the times Jimmy-Steve disappeared, all the times he chose other things over Fiona. He remembered how broken Fiona had been afterwards. Ian knows that contrary to what Fiona thought, _he_ was probably the Jimmy-Steve in their relationship- running and disappearing. But the difference was that here he was, having made his amends and working towards a future, and fixing what he had destroyed. But Jimmy-Steve? He had destroyed her, and then left the rubble behind.

 

    Ian stood there for a few more moments, appreciating the strength of his relationship with Mickey, but hurting for the end of his sisters’. Then, with one last tight squeeze, he went upstairs.

 

 

///

 

 

    Mickey was sitting awake on the bed, but in a half-asleep kind of way. Theo was cradled against his chest, as he rocked back and forth and sang a song Ian remembered being told was a Ukrainian lullaby. Ian came over, placing a gentle kiss on Mickey’s head. For the second time that night, someone looked up at Ian through wet eyes. But these weren’t tears for past losses- these were tears that came with letting go, and moving onto better things.


	32. I Don't Wanna Change You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hii!! I'm sorry if this chapter feels a little messy and all over the place- I just had so much I wanted to cover! But it's also longer than my usual chapters soo hopefully not completely confusing?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading x
> 
> Chapter title from a song of the same name by Damien Rice

Things were perfect for a while. Mickey wasn't sure about it at first, always sleeping with one eye open, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But after a few days of peace, Mickey began to relax a little more, stopped holding Ian against him at night in a choking grip. Stopped waking up in the middle of the night just to check on Theo and make sure he was still sleeping in his crib. Stopped waiting for someone to creep into their room at night, stopped fighting for breath in quiet moments under the shower, when he can’t close the shower curtain because he was afraid someone was on the other side. Ian was patient as always, but Mickey couldn’t help but get tired of _himself_. He wanted to take Ian up on going to a therapist- he _did_. But it just got lost amongst the flurry of activity going on.

New York was a serious plan now. Ian’s transfer was approved, and Mickey had been looking at houses online. He wished he could be looking for jobs, but he has no idea what his marketable skills are. He’ll just have to find something once they get there. So he pored over real estate sites, looking for something they can afford on a combination of Ian’s salary and whatever little Mickey’ll earn from whatever shitty job he gets. It’s different now that Theo’s there too. They don’t need a second room right now, but they have to take into consideration the endless stream of Gallaghers that no doubt will manage to make their way to New York as well. He found a little loft space with two rooms that are tiny, but comfy. It was a stretch, but they could just afford to buy the lease. The day they deposited the advanced payment, Ian pressed Mickey into the mattress with his face in his neck and Mickey didn’t need to hear words to know how happy he was. Mickey was happy, too. He was really fucking happy.

Mickey got used to it, the happiness- so it jarred him a little when Ian got low the first time after they reunited. At first he couldn’t even tell- it wasn’t like it used to be, the meds stopped Ian from dropping down into the unreachable depths he once did. But after a little while of Ian skipping runs and complaining of phantom pains, Mickey could recognise it. And frankly, it terrified him. He couldn’t help but remember the way everything collapsed so spectacularly last time.

It hit him, panicked him, but he knew he couldn’t buckle under it. He needed to be strong, be there for Ian, because he’s always loved Ian more than he’s been afraid.

So he made sure that Ian’s meds were right next to his bedside every morning, with a bottle of his favourite flavour of one of those disgusting health shakes he loved so much. He talked to Ian softly, but not so softly that he felt inebriated, and made sure to be the one to wake up when Theo cried in the middle of the night so he could get some sleep. One night, he woke up, only to find it was Ian crying, not their son. He didn't try to hush, just let him get it out. Only after did he whisper to him, “You wanna go see the doctor, tomorrow?” Ian nodded, and curled against Mickey’s chest and that was that.

  
///

  
It was while taking Ian to his therapist that Mickey finally attended that much awaited appointment. He was just sitting nervously, having watched Ian disappeared into the room, when he spotted a poster. _Sleepless nights?_ it asked, _Panic attacks? Don’t suffer in silence. Share your fears_. Mickey couldn’t help but feel like it was talking to him. He thought of not being able to enjoy what should have been a happy moment for him. He thought of waking up Ian at three ‘o’ clock in the morning because he couldn’t breathe.

Mickey suddenly felt a presence next to him. It was the receptionist who had greeted him and Ian earlier. “Sir, Dr. Jones wanted me to let you know that the appointment might take a little longer- there might be some adjustments to Mr. Gallagher’s medication. Would you like some refreshments while you wait?”

Mickey felt it at the tip of his tongue- knew what he wanted to ask. But he hesitated for a moment, looking in the polished woman’s gaze and feeling small, though she had been nothing but polite. _Don’t be a fucking coward,_ he told himself. “No- I- no thanks. I was wondering if Dr. Andrea Charles is free.” Mickey had vaguely recognised the name as one of those Ian had mentioned to him before as a suggested therapist before. Ian had offered to bring Mickey to his regular clinic more than once before to meet her.

The woman looked surprised, before nodding. “She is, indeed,” she answered, “Would you like a consulting session?” Mickey hesitated yet again, before nodding. He wondered if he should have decided this _with_ Ian, but he had a feeling that Ian would be proud and happy either way. Mickey followed the receptionist into a room, right next to Ian’s. He drew from that, reminded himself that Ian was strong enough to have done this multiple times. He could do it, too.

The woman waiting for him was decidedly not what he expected. He had come to picture therapists as prim and proper women with shiny hair and high cheekbones. He was aware it was a stereotype, but all the therapists he had seen though Ian’s journey had only confirmed it. But Dr. Andrea Charles was _not_ a prim and proper woman with shiny hair and high cheekbones. Mickey should have known, from a lifetime of knowing strong, eye catching women like Mandy and Lili, that he was overdue to meet another one.

She was tiny, as a start, but Mickey knew from personal experience not to underestimate someone because of their size. She was tiny, but fierce, with shorn off hair and gold studs and a tattoo creeping onto her neck from under her shirt. “Hi,” she greeted him with a smile, which he couldn’t help but return slightly. He shifted uncomfortably, stroking a finger across his lower lip. The room they were in had some posters and degrees on the walls, but was otherwise simple and friendly looking. Mickey wasn’t sure he would fit in here, even if he thought it was likely he would like the woman in front of him.

“Hey,” he said, making his voice strong and clear though he had been shaking on the inside. “So, let’s start with the basics. I’m guessing you’re not very formal, so I’m Andy. It’s nice to meet you...”

“Mickey. Mickey Milkovich.”

“Okay. Hi, Mickey Milkovich. So first off, let’s get some things out of the way. I’m not sure if you’ve ever attended therapy, but we’re going to keep this very casual. I’m a therapist, which means I’m here to listen to your concerns, and try to help you through them, because we all could use someone to talk to every now and then. And please, don’t be afraid or ashamed. I’ve been in more than one of these settings on the other side- I know that sometimes it can be scary. But I think we can help each other out.”

Mickey felt a little overwhelmed by her proclamation, but was relieved by her casualness and honesty. He didn't need fancy words to help him through his shit- just needed someone to be brutally honest about how to fix what he saw as twisted inside him. “Uh... my lawyer recommended you. Said you... uh, work with people with PTSD and shit? I mean, I’ve never had a diagnosis or anything, but I think everyone around me is pretty sure that’s what I’ve got. But I mean- isn’t PTSD what veterans and shit get? I haven’t- I mean, I’m not in the army or whatever.”

“Yes, war veterans are most commonly known to have PTSD after their terrible experiences. But it isn’t exclusively that, Mickey. PTSD can occur after any traumatic event in one’s life. If you don’t mind me asking, who exactly around you thinks that? People whose judgement you trust?”

“Yeah. My boyfriend’s never said it outright, but I’m pretty sure he thinks so. My sister. My lawyer, the one who recommended therapy.”

“And what do _you_ think?”

Satisfied that she didn't have a notepad in front of her, and wasn't noting down his innermost thoughts, he responded in kind. “I- yeah, I don’t know if it’s PTSD, but it’s definitely something.”

“What leads you to think so? Have you been experiencing any effects?” When she saw Mickey hesitate, she said, “Don’t worry, Mickey. Please, feel comfortable with sharing things with me. Nothing leaves this room unless _you_ share it with someone else.”

Mickey nodded. “Uh... mostly panic attacks? Like- for no fucking reason, I can’t breathe, can’t speak. That’s the worst of it. S’been happening more often since the trial, but- it didn't start then. S’been happening for a while now. Sometimes, I can’t sleep, but usually it’s the panic that does me in.”

“I see. And do you have any guess as to why these panic attacks started?”

He nodded, heart beating faster, and laughed internally without humour at how ironic it would be if he had a panic attack in that moment.

“Do you want to share?”

Mickey hesitated; stayed silent.

“Not yet?” Dr. Cha- Andy’s voice wasn’t disappointed, just soft. It reminded him enough of Ian to calm him down.

Mickey shook his head.

“Okay. In your own time Mickey, don’t worry about it. So tell me about this boyfriend?” She gave him a shit eating grin and it was easy to pretend that she was just a friend, and not a therapist. Once he could do that, the words came more easily to him. Mickey couldn’t help but smile as he spoke about Ian; describing his red hair and green eyes and open smile and the way he made Mickey feel like he was worth something. When he stopped, Andy looked like she had gotten something from all of that that he wasn't aware of letting out. But he couldn’t find himself to mind.

The minutes had escaped them, sand through Mickey’s fingers, and he was surprised that he had actually enjoyed the session. “Okay,” Andy said, “I’ve got another client, sadly, but I’ve got a little homework for you, Mickey Milkovich.”

He groaned, “Man, I didn't even do homework when I was at school.” She rolled her eyes, and he was once again struck by how candid she was.

“Well, you’re going to do _my_ homework. I’m a lot scarier than your teachers were when I want to be, Milkovich,” she began, and he believed her. She placed a notepad in front of him. It was completely empty, just waiting to be used. “I’ve got two options for you. I could give you a pen, or a box of color pencils. I want you to write, or draw, whatever you want to. About your boyfriend, your kid, anything you want. I’m not going to see what you bring back if you don’t want me to, but this is for you. I know it sounds kind of clichéd, but it really does help sometimes.”

Mickey thought for a minute, before reaching for the color pencils. He recalled a smuggled away box of crayons in his childhood, drawings his mom would praise and hang up on the fridge. He remembered being _proud_ of what he made, until Terry would catch sight of them and rip them down. Now Terry was gone- he couldn’t tear Mickey down anymore. He made a _pfft_ sound to ward off the happiness swelling in him and said, “Sounds gay to me, but I’ll try it.”

“Next week?” she asked, and he was surprised at how little he hesitated when he confirmed, “Next week.”

He headed out of the room, spotted Ian waiting for him. The redhead’s face brightened when he saw Mickey. “Hey, heard you went in for a little impromptu session. How was it?” he asked as soon as he approached, wrapping his fingers around Mickey’s. “Surprisingly, okay. Yours?” Ian still looked slightly fatigued, but his eyes had a little more life in them.

“No med change, so yay!” he gave a little fist pump into the air and Mickey rolled his eyes, wondering where he had found this dork for himself. “I’m feeling a lot better, Mick. Thanks for bringing me.” Mickey didn't respond verbally to that, only pressing his nose into Ian’s sleeve to breathe him in a little. “Is that art therapy I spy? Hanna suggested it for me, but I told her I’d run instead. Guess Andrea knew you wouldn’t be able to get far with your short, stubby legs.”

Mickey shoved him away, rolled his eyes yet again but couldn’t resist joining in with Ian’s self satisfied laughter at his joke. Though he had pushed Ian away, Mickey had kept their fingers locked together, and he drew the tall redhead back towards him. Ian wrapped an arm around Mickey’s shoulders, grinning into the crook of his neck as they left the building.

“You happy, baby?” Ian asked quietly into Mickey’s skin. And Mickey knew that if he hadn’t fought off that nickname, the answer had to be yes.

  
///

  
A week passed, and then another. New York was given an actual date- they would be leaving in less two months, in January. Andy assured Mickey that they could do the sessions over Skype. Mickey would have shaken her off, but the truth was, she _was_ helping. Mickey hadn’t had an attack since his sessions had started, and he was sleeping full nights now, except for those disrupted by Theo, of course. Ian was doing well, having stayed level since the low episode those few weeks ago. Things were good, they were nice. Therapy was helping, despite Mickey’s initial hesitation.

Most surprising of all, _art_ was helping. The first week, Mickey had just tossed the notepad under the bed (he didn't want one of the many Gallaghers touching it) and forgotten about it. But then one night, Ian and him went out and got buzzed and when Mickey came back, his mind felt so full of Ian that he felt like he had found the subject of his drawings. It wasn’t some kind of genius drawing- Mickey didn't know all the tricks and details of how to do it. But what had resulted was a slightly abstract sketch of his redhead and Ian had blabbed on about how _gorgeous_ it was and made all the Gallaghers look at it and Mickey kind of wanted to die. But he was happy too. He was really happy. It made him feel like he was _doing_ something for the first time in a long time.

So it was just that for a while. Abstract little portraits of the people around him in random moments that everyone seemed to like. Though it took Mickey a while, he liked them too. There was Theo sleeping in his crib, Theo tucked against Ian’s chest when he they were watching a movie (Theo seemed to like serious shit like Inglorious Basterds and Les Miserables. Fucking go figure, Mickey’s kid would like movies that were ten hours long and partially in other languages.)Lip’s fingers curled around the neck of yet another bottle. Fiona with a cup of coffee in the morning. Ian lying in bed, partially wrapped in a sheet, after everyone simultaneously disappeared to go to the movies, taking even the babies with them, neck red and angry from Mickey incessant mouth. Even one with Mickey’s own fingers, harshly tattooed but gently intertwined with Ian’s bright hair.

As his sessions got a little darker and more serious, Mickey would sometimes draw out stuff that was reflective of that. Mickey realised that therapy wasn't some magical cure. Talking about it, thinking about it still made his skin crawl and his stomach turn. But he also realised that talking about it was helpful, and that Andy could provide the listening ear for all the gruesomeness he wanted to keep out of Ian’s mind. Sometimes, he would return from his sessions so completely drained, and he and Ian would always go to Burger King and eat their sorrows out. They did the same when Theo would get vaccinations- take the sobbing little boy to Burger King though he could eat anything, buying a kid’s meal so he could get a toy with it. It was the most basic, simple positive reinforcement, but it helped. As did drawing stuff, for Mickey.

The first time Mickey told Andy the story of him and Ian, not just Ian’s surface traits, but how they had grown up with each other, it had taken an entire session and surprisingly it had helped him. He had already let go of all his bitterness towards Ian, but he had been clinging to his fear of being left behind again. It had taken Andy putting her hand on his and saying that if Ian had stuck around for all that had happened recently, it seemed to her he wasn't ready to let Mickey go. That night, Mickey had scrawled out a messy drawing that he wasn't sure anyone would understand, truly, except for him and Ian. When Ian had seen it first, his eyes had welled up and though Mickey had teased him about it, he understood the emotion. It was two abstract figures, one taller and one shorter; wrapped up in each other and bathed in light. Where the taller one curved in the shorter, it almost seemed like he was protecting him from the messily drawn darkness behind them. Ian understood it, just like Mickey knew he would. It was them, their light protecting the other from darkness- both his own and others’.

  
///

  
Christmas brought with it cold, cuddling and a kickass new set of art supplies for Mickey from the whole Gallagher clan, who had all seemed to have gotten the same idea. Ian had, similarly, received a predictable set of sporting goods and grooming supplies. Then the two were promptly shoved aside so everyone could fawn over Theo instead. Mickey didn't blame them. It was Theo’s first Christmas, and everyone wanted to be the aunt or uncle to defeat all others. Fiona had knitted him a little sweater with the letter ‘T’ on it (“ _This is it, isn’t it? I’m becoming the lonely old lady who knits_.”). Lip, for all his talk of being iffy about Theo in Ian’s life bought the baby one of those fancy baby jungle gyms that would probably take up half of their future living room in one fell swoop. Mickey couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity, much to his horror, as he watched Lip play with Theo in the contraption. Lip wasn't drinking, and he was actually smiling for once in his life. He recalled their conversation about never finding love, and wondered if in another life, Philip Gallagher might have been a good dad. Debbie, forever broke, donated a bunch of Fanny’s old toys that she had outgrown, while Carl offered up a bunch of cash that both Ian and Mickey firmly refused. All in all it was a pretty good Christmas, even if Fiona had set fire to the kitchen and they had ended up ordering pizza instead. Christmas also meant there was only a week left before the boys left, and things were finally lulling after a frantic few weeks of fights with the landlord and boxing up their few belongings that were mostly just Theo’s baby supplies.

Two days before their flight, Mickey opened the door when the doorbell rang, only to find Svetlana standing there with a tiny brown haired kid he could only assume was Yevgeny. The explosion of _something_ in Mickey’s chest at seeing the kid after so long was trumped by his confusion. “Svet?” he asked, instantly slipping back into the nickname though it had been years since he had called her that. She looked nervous for a second before speaking. “You must take him. Immigration will catch me. He is small, I do not want him caught up in the mess. You are father. You take him to New York.” Mickey was already protesting, eyebrows shooting up. “Svet, we can’t just take the kid! He doesn’t know us! Maybe Immigration won’t-“

“They will!” she interjected, voice rising to the pitch where she turned from Svetlana to Mother Russia, “They will find me, and they will trap him in their system! Please. He is good boy. He knows you. I have shown him pictures.” Mickey felt something inside him crumble at the plea _he is a good boy_. He knelt to his knees to look the little boy in the eyes. He had been silent for this long. “Hey, little man.” He gave a little wave and Mickey’s heart broke because he remembered how it felt when your mother disappeared from your life for reasons that made no sense to a little kid.

“Ian!” he called, hearing Ian answer from upstairs and hurry down the stairs. “What’s wro-“ he began, but froze when he saw Svetlana and Yevgeny. “Immigration’s on her ass. Wants us to take Yevgeny with us. What d’you think?” Mickey watched Ian think it through, watched as his common sense was trumped by his hero complex. Mickey got it, really. Ever since Theo had come into their lives, the boys had wanted to fix the mistakes they had made with Yev. Now, maybe they could actually do so. “Good thing we got that extra room, huh?” Ian said, making Svetlana visibly sigh in relief.

She didn't waste time after that. She handed Mickey a backpack with some clothes and toys, and a folder he could only assume had the kid’s documents, and bent down to hug her son, who was now crying. “It’s okay, you are brave. You will be safe, with your Papa and Dada. Mama loves you.” Yev sucked in his lower lip, as if trying to be brave, and stepped over the threshold to Ian and Mickey. Svetlana gave him one last flying kiss before disappearing into the night. Yevgeny crumpled a little, but apparently had known this was coming, even if the boys didn’t.

Mickey and Ian eyed each other, unsure, before Ian bent down to ask, “Yevgeny, do you know who we are?” The little boy nodded. “Papa,” he said pointed at Mickey, “and Dada.” He pointed at Ian. “Mama told me.” Something in Mickey’s chest inflated at being a father to the kid he had thought he had lost forever. “You hungry, kid?” he asked.

“Mac and chee?” Yev questioned, leaving out the end of the word, as if assessing Ian and Mickey’s capacity to provide him with junk food.

“Definitely.” Mickey agreed, “Plus, there’s someone you should meet.”

They led the little boy to the kitchen and Ian brought Theo downstairs to meet the little boy who would now serve as his older brother. Yevgeny seemed overjoyed at this development, and started talking about how he always wanted a baby brother and how his friend had one and how they would always boss over him. The boy may have had Mickey’s looks, but he definitely had Ian’s penchant for talking. Theo sat in the highchair, watching this new giant with a mix of confusion and excitement, not even shoving him off when the little boy attempted to feed him his baby food. Ian, once satisfied with the safety of the situation, walked over to wrap his arms around Mickey’s middle. “Lip’s going to have a field day with this, huh?” he asked, snorting when Mickey responded, “We’ve got to stop moving if we’re going to do this accidental baby acquisition every time we do.”

Ian then pressed a kiss against his lower jaw and pushed away, saying something about booking a ticket for Yev. Mickey wasn’t sure. He finished up the mac’n’cheese, serving it to Yev and feeling obtusely glad when he seemed to approve. He took over feeding Theo so Yev could eat and they sat in companiable silence for a while as both the boys made huge messes while eating.

“Papa?” Yev asked him, clearly as unsure about the name as Mickey was.

“Yeah, shortstack?”

“You won’t let the bad man come, right? The bad men who want to take Mama?”

Mickey’s heart constricted, and he once again wondered at how well the kid was taking all of this. “Nope. I’m stronger than the bad men. We’ll keep you safe. Me and Ia- Dada.”

“Forever.”

“Forever and ever, kid.”

“Okay,” Yev shrugged, and Mickey was shocked at his instant trust. He wondered how Svetlana had been able to keep the kid so innocent in the Southside. Grudgingly, he had to admit she’d done a good job. “Do you know Mikey? He is ninja turtle, strong like you! His name is just like yours and I think-“

As Yev began the seemingly endless talking yet again, not even stopping when Theo overturned the bowl of his food, Mickey grinned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES IT'S YEV


	33. I'm Gonna Make This Place Your Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys adjust to New York, and parenthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure domestic fluff at it's best!! I DIED writing this because my laptop's 'a' key randomly stopped working so I had to type every a using the online keyboard ahhh. But it's here!
> 
> Bonus: Yev as I imagine him at the end :)
> 
> Chapter title from the song 'Home' by Philip Phillips
> 
> Enjoy x

   Ian hadn’t thought that getting two drowsy kids and an angry, sleep deprived Mickey onto their plane to New York would be quite so difficult.

   Boy, was he wrong.

   Their flight was at eight in the morning, which meant they had to reach the airport by at least six thirty, which meant they had to leave home by five thirty. Ian had done all the math and presented all the calculations to Mickey weeks earlier in preparation, but now that they were in the moment, Mickey was probably handling it worse than the kids. And of _course_ Ian’s entire family couldn’t say goodbye at home like a normal family and followed them all the way to the airport, where Lip had made a joke about them having a _long night_ that Ian was convinced Mickey would have punched him for if he wasn't so tired.

    Yevgeny, it appeared had never been on a flight before, which wasn't surprising since he was barely four. Neither Ian nor Mickey had either, though, which was quite pitiable considering they had lived more than two decades. But it wasn't until Ian looked up the airplane fares that he realised just how expensive they were. Thus, they were on an early morning flight (cheaper) and one with a stopover (even cheaper.) Ian figured he and Mickey had to be doing _something_ right if their kids were jet setting around the country while they were still tiny. Especially Theo, who was still small enough that he didn't even warrant his own seat.

    The goodbyes had been tearful, much to Mickey’s distaste and awkwardness. Fiona and Debbie chanced it and hugged Mickey too, which meant they were feeling especially emotional. The tears didn't start until they said bye to the kids, though. Theo had been the apple of everyone’s eyes since he had arrived, and by the way Fiona was clinging to him, Ian was a little scared she might just keep him. Yevgeny, too, had been completely absorbed into the family even though it had only been two days. As expected, Lip had had a minor freak out when his appearance was noted, but Ian and Mickey had been even more pointed about him _shutting the fuck up_ this time, seeing as Yev actually understood what he was saying, to some extent. The rest of the family had just accepted the madness, and brought Yev into their fold immediately. The little brunette’s heart had truly been stolen; however, by Liam, who was the closest to his age and was a slightly older miraculous creature who actually _understood_ his references to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Now, Ian’s heart constricted as he watched Yev and Liam exchange a little fist bump that was the epitome of little boys trying to be grown ups.

   Ian had many regrets when it came to Yevgeny. Stealing him away, abandoning him completely after things with Mickey ended. They were mistakes, among his many, that he had thought he would just have to accept and move forward with. _This_ , this felt like a second chance. It felt someone offering Ian the golden ticket to fix what had been broken, just like with Mickey. And although Yev was too young and innocent to hold grudges against Ian for what had happened, Ian had plenty of grudges against _himself_. Being here, holding Yev’s hand as they headed away from the Gallaghers and into the unknown, felt like the start of letting go of them.

    Yev had fallen into his role as _big brother_ easily, with grace. He eagerly ‘helped’ Mickey push Theo’s stroller down the marble tiled corridor, occasionally giving up so he could experiment with the various unfamiliar contraptions around him, like vending machines and water fountains. Ian and Mickey grinned as people stopped to coo at Theo, or smiled at Yev as he bumped into yet another surprised person in his path. They had become somewhat of a domestic, suburban couple that maybe some people looked at and thought, _I want that someday_. They were a fucking clichéd out and proud gay couple with one and half kids and Ian _loved_ it.

    The whole airport seemed a bit daunting at first, with its shiny fittings and even shinier people. But they figured it out easily enough. Once they got past the security check, they found a seat at the McDonalds, set up Theo’s mini battlefield of toys and settled in for the hour long wait they had left. Yevgeny inhaled his burger like it was going to disappear, and Ian couldn’t help but wonder if the kid had been struggling for food. Immediately, he felt a little guilty at speculating in that direction. Svetlana, he was sure, had done the best he could, and that was more than most people in the Southside could say. Yevgeny had had a hard night on the first day away from his mom. He had cried and clearly his resolve had crumbled. But he went to sleep comfortably enough after he was safely tucked between him and Mickey on the bed. Yev had an instantly trusting nature, and had accepted Mickey and Ian as his caretakers with an open heart. Ian trusted Svetlana, if she had nurtured that in him.

   Ian took over the Theo-feeding for the night, and Mickey and Yev started playing around with some skin safe markers they had dug up at the Gallagher house. Yev was overjoyed when Mickey conjured up a replica Ninja Turtle on his skin, saying he had a tattoo just _like Papa’s._ Ian leaned over Mickey’s shoulder to look and laughed, saying, “No, you better not get any tattoos like Papa’s.”

   By the time they got on the plane, Theo was asleep (sucking his thumb and looking fucking adorable, though Ian might have been a little biased) and Yev was on his way there. However, he was still awake enough to show his tattoo off to every crew member that would look at him. In a span of ten minutes, the kids charmed the crew, Yev claimed the window seat and Mickey checked everyone’s belt three times because guess what? Mickey Milkovich was a nervous flyer. Yev promptly fell asleep, completely wasting the window seat, and Mickey was holding Theo in a choke hold as they took off. Once they were up in the air, Mickey pawned Theo off to Ian and drifted off on his shoulder, eyes sliding shut though fear tried valiantly to keep them shut. “Sleep, Mick,” Ian reprimanded, “Nothing’s going to happen.” Eventually, he gave in and Mickey’s head became a constant weight against Ian. Occasionally, Ian would rest his own head on top of Mickey’s, but mostly just stayed awake. After all, he had a baby to hold.

    When they landed, both the kids were still asleep. Mickey scooped up Yev, who was still pretty tiny, and Ian kept up his hold of Theo. With minor difficulties, they made it out of the airport, and into the frigid New York air, where Mickey grumbled at the man who drove them home for the decidedly steep fare. Ian had come to realise that everything in New York would be a lot more expensive, what with them having grown up in a neighbourhood where you saved every penny you could. When they got to their destination, they lifted the two kids and three bags, ignoring the taxi driver scowling at them for not offering up a tip. If Ian could aim to get somewhere financially, it would be allowing himself the luxury of tipping. But they weren’t there yet. Hands aching under everything they were holding, Mickey unlocked the door. They had gotten the key from the building manager, and having the key to the place finally made it feel _real_ and like home.

    Home was nothing fancy- a small house in a safe but not especially elite neighbourhood. Real estate was far from affordable in New York, but they had prioritised the safety of the neighbourhood over the cheapness of some other places they had looked at. Part of providing the kids with a better childhood included them not growing up somewhere you could witness a drug deal every time you stepped outside your house. Home had red, exposed brick walls, high ceilings and huge windows that let in the afternoon light, even if it was sparse in the winter. Home had the kitchen and living room downstairs, with two bedrooms (albeit pretty tiny ones) in a loft space you could get to by climbing a spiralled staircase they would definitely have to bar Theo from. The rooms were bare upon their entry, holding opportunity for Ian and Mickey to really make it theirs, even if that meant even more expenses. They had a week before Ian would start working, and they would have to find a playschool for Yev (because that was something Northsiders did, and the kid would have every piece of the Northside childhood they could provide). Mickey, too, had to find a job, one where he could take Theo with him seeing as they couldn’t exactly afford a one income household, or a sitter yet.

    But they had a week, and a lot of time to think about all the practical aspects. In that moment, they were bone tired. So they abandoned their bags on the ground floor, only taking Theo’s diaper bag upstairs so they could change him real quick before they collapsed. That of course, invited a screaming fit from the cranky baby, which Ian handled while Mickey set up the bedroom as best he could. Ian rocked Theo back to sleep, which took lesser time than usual because the baby was likely just as tired as the rest of them. Then Ian kissed his little forehead, thanking the baby-rearing Gods for pitying him, and made his way to the room.

    All their landlord had provided for was a mattress and two bedding sets. Yev was already fast asleep on the mattress, sucking his thumb unapologetically. Ian lay Theo next to his brother (his _brother_ , god that was perhaps the most sweet thing ever to Ian), surrendering the pillows that were probably intended for him and Mickey on either side of the baby to ensure he wouldn’t roll off the mattress and onto the floor in his sleep. Mickey then placed one of the blankets over the kids, seemed to smile at the picture they painted for a second, and then came over to lie down next to Ian.

    They were using the remaining comforter, rolled up, to support their heads. It was pretty cold without a blanket but, hey, the kids were the priority. Mickey shivered slightly and burrowed closer to Ian. The warmth of Mickey’s body helped somewhat, but not much. “The things we do for love, huh Mick?” Ian grinned, despite sleep clouding his mind. Mickey yawned. “I’m too sleepy to appreciate Game of Thrones references right now, Gallagher.”

   Ian laughed lightly. “I love you, Mick.” Mickey just nodded and burrowed his face against Ian’s arm like a sleepy puppy. And lying there, on the cold hard floor, surrounded on either side by the love of his life and his kids, Ian Gallagher fell slowly, peacefully to sleep.

  
///

  
    It took a few days to get used to the house, especially since it was constantly changing. They had a lot of work to get done in a week, so they pushed looking for Yev’s playschool (and Mickey’s job) to the week after. The space was, honestly, not bad at all, but it needed a shitload of touching up, especially when it came to the walls that seemed to be permanently stained with smoke. They repainted the walls themselves, Yev having a great time making random splotches when Mickey let him go rogue in the kids’ room. Since Yev was now a factor too, Ian and Mickey had decided upon having the kids sleep together in the other room, with a baby monitor Kev and Vee had given them for Christmas. Yev was overjoyed at this development, screaming about how he had _never had his own room and he wanted a Ninja Turtles bed spread and how he would take care Theo at night, don’t worry papa._

    Ian and Mickey had a tight budget, but they also didn't have the heart to refuse the kid anything, especially since he was still missing his mom every now and then and adjusting to all the changes. So they abandoned a king size bed in favour of a smaller one in their room, and from a second hand store. It was still better than anything they’d ever slept in (except maybe Mickey’s bed in the Sanchez house), so they weren’t complaining. That second hand store became their holy grail, and they got nearly every piece of furniture in the house from there, save for Yev’s single bed and Theo’s crib, which were the first two things either boy had ever bought from Ikea in their lives. The thrift stores in and around their locality were stuffed to the brim with useful stuff too- light fixtures, a coffee machine, even speakers. The good thing about living in a city full of people as broke as them was that bargains weren’t hard to come by.

    They did go into one of those fancy home decor stores to buy Yev’s much desired Ninja Turtles bed spread, and they bought some cutlery and a hanging nightlight for the boys, because Yev seemed to be scared of the dark, and Theo loved the swirling shape pattern it created, giggling every time they switched it on. As they were checking out, Ian caught sight of a sale on pine candles. Mickey laughed out loud when he saw it, commenting on how it was _fucking fate_ , and they bought three huge ones (getting one free, too.)

    By the end of the week, their finances were tight, but home finally felt like home, and every time Ian would (attempt to) cook in their kitchen, or they would put the boys to bed, it felt like they had made a life for themselves. Or at least, the beginning of one. Everything wasn't perfect. Theo still woke them up nightly, and the baby monitor just seemed to make the sounds worse. Yev would still have nightmares, and needed constant assurances that they would protect him from the _bad men_. Mickey still didn't have a job, they hadn’t figured out Yev’s playschool issue, but every night, Ian could climb into bed next to Mickey, turn off the bedside lamp and sleep next to him knowing that this was their life. Even if it was messy and a little chaotic, it was the life they had created for themselves and for their kids and maybe that was enough. They could look to the future.

    But of course, blasts from the past were inevitable, and Ian and Mickey’s came in the form of a phonecall from Lip six days after they arrived. “There is a woman looking for you,” his inebriated brother had drawled, “She is extremely angry, and gorgeous, might I add.”

 _Mandy_ , was Ian’s first thought- but they had just talked to her, and they were meeting in a few days when Mandy came back to New York after a client had swept her off to his holiday home in Florida. There was only one person who fit that description, and he could see the exact moment Mickey had the same realisation as him. Even when the aforementioned angry and gorgeous woman started yelling at him and Mickey, Ian couldn’t stop smiling. It seemed a piece of their life in Mexico had followed them home- or at least to where she had thought it would be. 

 

 

This is Yev in my imagination :) -


	34. Maybe, You're Gonna Be The One To Save Me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah... explanations at the end.

   When their door was accosted in the middle of the night, Mickey instantly knew who was waiting outside. He grinned, wide and uncaring of how sleepy he was. Ordinarily, he would have winced at the possibility of the loud noise awakening the kids, but tonight, Yev had launched a full scale revolt at wanting to see this mysterious aunt of his, and as had become the pattern recently, Theo had wanted to exactly as his older brother did. It wasn't hard for either of the boys to adjust to each other, despite their abrupt beginnings. Yev was sitting on their couch making faces at Theo, who had refused to sleep, no matter how many times Ian walked him around the house. Even the most determined eventually gave up. Such had Ian, too, given up after some time.

 

    Mickey threw open the front door, flanked by Ian. No surprise- Lili was standing on the other side, looking as fierce as ever. But to Mickey’s _unhappy_ surprise, Lip was standing next to her. She caught Mickey scowling at Lip, and said, “I told him not to come. Idiot doesn’t listen.” The musical lilt of her Mexican accent sounded unique to his ears, in a way it never had when they were in Mexico. Mickey felt a burst of affection for her, and accepted her hug when she offered it. She smelled like airports and travel, but she still smelled like Mexico to him. “Lili!” Ian exclaimed brightly when they hugged, and Mickey could see when he closed his eyes that she had brought back memories for him, too.

 

    Mickey felt a presence near his feet, and realised that Yev was crowding him, too shy to actually _greet_ the person he had been so excited to meet.

 

   “Hey, shortstack. Wanna come up here and say hi to your aunt Lili?” he asked, urging the little boy slightly ahead, but not forcefully. Yev smiled bashfully, red cheeked and fucking adorable.

 

    “Hi,” he said quietly to Lili, who must have been confused as fuck but smiled at him anyone. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said, bending down to reach his eye level. He turned redder, if that was possible and disappeared to greet Lip, who was safe and familiar. “Hey, Yev,” Lip greeted, ruffling Yev’s messy brown curls, earning a laugh from the little boy. “Hey, uncle Lip. You look awake-er than usual.”

 

    Ian laughed at that, but Mickey just eyed Lip critically. It was true- he looked sober for the first time since Mickey had seen him after they had returned to Chicago. “No drinks in this economy. Mother America only cares for the rich, kid- you gotta learn that early,” Lip commented, clearly trying to cover up his embarrassment that someone as tiny as Yev noticed his flaws.

 

   “Careful, Lip. You sound like Frank,” Ian commented, just before ignoring his brother completely and turning to face Lili instead.

 

    “Come in, Lil,” he beckoned, sitting their guests down on the couch, where Yev commandeered Theo yet again. “D’you guys want something to drink?” Mickey questioned, making Lili roll her eyes. “Why are you being so formal?” she asked, “Tell about your grand move to the City of Dreams which you didn't bother telling anyone about.”

 

    Her voice was pointed. Mickey caught the hint that they were having _the talk._ Thankfully, Yev yawned just in time. “Buddy, you sleepy?” Mickey asked, latching on to that, “Why don’t you hand Theo over to Lili?” Yev did so, hesitantly, not leaving before telling Lili to _be careful, hold his head, take care of him, sing him_ twinkle twinkle _if he cries._ After this barrage of sagely advice, he clambered into Mickey’s lap, wrapping his legs around his waist and resting his sleepy head in the crook of his neck. Ian checked to see if Theo was ready for bed, but the baby was still wide awake, eyes twinkling as Lili crooned to him in Spanish.

 

    Mickey lay Yev down on his bed, and he and Ian grinned at each other as they watched the little boy pass out immediately. They stood there for a moment more, hands intertwined on the head of the little bed. Then they went downstairs to make their apologies, and to welcome a part of their old lives into their fresh start.

 

 

///

 

 

   Months had passed, and things seemed to finally be getting on track for them. Yevgeny had been accepted into the neighbourhood preschool, where Mickey had entered with his tattoos covered and demure, only to be shocked when the kindly old woman running the school showed him the sleeve of tattoos hidden under her grandmotherly dress. Mickey had bagged a job at the tattoo parlour down the street after Mariana had put in a good word for him with the man who did all her tattoos, after Ian had let Mickey’s penchant for art slip. The first thing Mickey had done was cover up the _fuck love_ tattoo that had lay on his abdomen. He now had a rose crawling onto his pale skin instead, one that he had insisted was a _manly rose, fuck you, Ian._ Ian had no seeming complaints, however. He loved that tattoo. Not as much as his name, but he did.

 

    Mickey had never quite understood Ian’s fascination with the ugly chicken scratch on his chest, but he understood a little better on the day Ian slipped away while visiting him in the parlour and returned with a pair of Mickey the Mouse’s ears on his collarbone. Mickey rolled his eyes and told him it was stupid for a grown man to have a Disney tattoo, but Ian was too proud of it to care. It made Mickey’s chest inflate.

 

    Life was tough, sometimes. They struggled with the bills, and perhaps a tattoo parlour wasn't the _best_ place for a baby to spend his day until Ian came home. But everyone who worked there loved Theo, and their jobs kept them afloat. It was hard and heavy and kind of difficult sometimes, but so incredibly worth it.

 

   Lili had stayed, and moved into a house in their block. Lip was her ‘roommate’, and Mickey still hoped against all hope that they weren’t fucking. He knew it was futile, and Lip had some roguish charm to him everyone seemed to fall for, but Mickey didn't want Lili to fall for someone whose blood alcohol percentage was probably higher than his weight. He knew Ian had given him a _talk_ regarding his affinity for toxic relationships, but Lip had scoffed and not replied and that did nothing to help Mickey sleep at night. Especially when he started seeing Mandy around their place too. But that was a battle for another time. 

 

    Mickey had sessions with his therapist once a week. Once, he even introduced her to Ian, and immediately regretted it when they became best buds and she didn't talk about anything else for a month. Ian had kept his head over the water for a little while now, too. They had had a little scare, but he had just had an extra mood stabilizer and his feet had remained firmly on the ground.

 

    It was good, and safe. They had normal people problems. Groceries, homework, running out of hot water.

 

   In the night, when the world was cold but their bed was warm, as they lay back to chest, face to neck, it was almost like nothing had changed since they were kids sleeping on the same bed for the first time. Things _had_ changed- there were two kids in the room right next door who were under their care. The demon that had held Mickey down for years was gone. But the two of them stayed the same. And maybe, most likely, that would be enough this time.

 

 

 

 

((APOLOGIES AND EXPLANATIONS))

 

*crawls forward in shame*

 

Yes, for those of you who are still here (and I totally understand if no one is) this fic now stands completed. I just tweaked the ending a bit, and completely eradicated the idea of the last conflict.

 

Thank you so much for your love and support for this fic. You guys truly deserved every good sentence in the fic and even more. But if I’m being honest, the cause of death for this fic? I’ll go with complete lack of interest. I _wanted_ to write it, I _did._ I had a plan of action, and all of that good stuff. But you know how my fic end notes say I’ll never give up on gallavich? Um.... I gave up on gallavich.

 

Actually that’s not even it. I didn't give up on gallavich. But I entered a new fandom and I saw the contrast between how excited and happy I feel when I’m enjoying BTS versus the misery of sitting through days writing fics for a couple that the show disregards and stanning a character who is treated so badly. BTS is active, energetic, lively, all this stuff which I feel I was losing out while stanning gallavich, just because there is the constant disappointment of knowing that no matter how much I write, it never translates into canon. It’s not that I don’t still love their relationship, and if they are miraculously resurrected, I will be as happy as the next person, but I feel happier stanning BTS. I hope you guys can understand why that is important to me. My main motivation for writing this fic was to give the boys, and Mickey, a better ending, and I hope I have achieved that to a certain extent with Wonderwall.

 

    I am proud of this fic, even if I wasn't able to complete it to what I had originally imagined. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written, and it was a long project I _stuck_ with for a long time. The OC’s and plotlines of this fic are so important to me. And I just didn't want to compromise that with chapters that I had no interest in. Instead, I chose to end this in the most natural way I could. I am so sorry to anyone who was looking forward to this story. A few of you wrote to me on tumblr, and I feel _horrible._  I _have_ been writing for BTS, so if anyone is ARMY, or just wants to read some of my writing, that’s where to head. I am super busy in school, with twelfth grade and exams and just the general stress of being a human. But please, you can still message me and talk to me, let’s be friends :)

 

    Thank you for showing my story and effort love and support. It has been an honour (attempting at) entertaining you.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope that was okay.  
> talk to me at immabookgeek.tumblr.com  
> In all honesty, friends, I still believe in gallavich and the love these boys have for each other. I will never give up on them x


End file.
